


The Winchester Affair

by andimeantittosting (Saylee)



Series: Collection of Andimeantittosting's Harlequin fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, Blackmail, Childhood Friends, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-10 04:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting
Summary: Castiel Shurley has emerged from self-imposed exile to help see his sister safely wed. But when Hael discovers a priceless diamond brooch at the LaCroix ball, a villain finds the opening he needs, and Castiel finds himself in a nightmare.Blackmailed by the odious Zachariah Adler, he is given one mission: to spy upon Dean, the handsome Marquess of Winchester, or see his entire family ruined. As he’s running out of time, Castiel has to make a choice—save his family, or risk it all to protect the man he has loved in secret since childhood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Destiel Harlequin Challenge. A big thank you to the mods for running such a fun, easy-going challenge. I'm so happy to have had the opportunity to participate again.
> 
> My original prompt was:  
>  _ **‘Ware the Marquess**  
>  The diamond brooch she accidentally discovers the night of the ball at Langley Hall is all it takes for Miss Selina Terrell to see her quiet life turn into her worst nightmare._
> 
> _Through a twist of fate, she becomes the puppet of a mysterious man lurking in the shadows. He bestows upon her a single mission: to spy upon the handsome Marquess of Northfolk—the man she is secretly in love with—or see her honor forever sullied in the eyes of society._
> 
> _As she’s running out of time, she has but two days to make a choice—save herself or risk it all to protect the only man she has ever cared about._
> 
> Huge thanks also to [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses) for her help and encouragement with this fic at every stage, for beta reading, and for being an all-around wonderful person! 
> 
> **A quick note on historical accuracy:** While research was definitely involved in writing this fic, ultimately my goal was to capture the feel of a regency romance novel, and in places, strict historical accuracy has been sacrificed in the name of story.

Castiel Shurley no longer kept a valet. He had done so, as was expected for a man of his age and position, for only a few brief years after he had left Oxford, before the family fortunes had begun their decline. For a year or so after that, the butler, their lone remaining manservant, had taken on the valet’s duties for both Castiel and his father, but eventually he had been let go as well, leaving only the housekeeper to manage the household. 

Without a manservant to assist him, Castiel polished his own boots until he could see his reflection in the leather, pressed his own linen, and brushed his own coat. At last, he fastened his neckcloth and peered at himself in the ancient, silvered looking glass. He would pass, he decided. He was hardly in the first stare of fashion, but hopefully his manner of dress would be taken for deliberate simplicity, rather than the actual truth: an ever-deepening poverty. It was imperative that no one guess at the Shurley family’s dire straits, at least until his younger sister was safely wed.

He met Hael in the corridor, looking fresh and bright in the white dress their great-aunt Naomi, Lady Milton, insisted was the only choice for a debutante. The dress had a deep flounce and a lace neckline that had no doubt cost a pretty penny—what money was left was being funneled into Hael’s come out. If worst came to worst, Castiel had an education that he could put to use as some gentleman’s secretary or towards other gainful employment, and as a peer, his father, Lord Shurley, was exempt from debtor’s prison, but for a gently reared young woman who found herself impoverished, the only options were a lifetime of penury as a governess or paid companion. Hael, who had been raised to expect no such thing, who had been sheltered from the knowledge of the family's failing fortunes, did not deserve to suffer for their father’s improvidence.

The embarrassing fact was that Charles, Baron Shurley, had an extreme fondness for the gaming tables—among other vices—that did not match his skill at play. Castiel had tried in vain to curb his father’s excesses, but inevitably, Lord Shurley would find his way to a gaming hell, drowning his sorrows in wine, women, and deep play, and stagger home in the mornings, his pockets stuffed full of vowels that there was no hope of paying.

Castiel had suggested that he take employment immediately to shore up their floundering fortunes, but Great-Aunt Naomi had insisted he do no such thing, and certainly not before his sister was launched. 

“Really, I do not hold with gentlemen sullying their hands with employment at all,” the imperious Dowager Lady Milton had sniffed, “though I will acknowledge that your father’s unbecoming _habits_ have put you in a difficult position.”

Castiel had been obligated to nod and agree with her that certainly, had the situation not been so dire, he would never have considered lowering himself to work. Personally, he found the attitude somewhat ridiculous, but for Hael’s sake, his aunt must be appeased. It had been made very clear that Naomi disapproved of their father, and of their entire branch of the family by extension, and was only sponsoring Hael’s come out from a desire to protect the family name.

“The Lord knows it needs the protection, with your father out carousing every night, and your brother besmirching the family name the way he did.”

“You could always dangle Castiel out for an heiress,” Cousin Gabriel had chimed in with a waggle of his eyebrows. “He’s got those dashing good looks all the maidens swoon for and he’s going to be a baron one day. He’d be snapped up right quick.”

Naomi shot her grandson a quelling look. “Certainly not. In my experience, heiresses looking for a title to marry are excessively vulgar. And frequently American,” she added in a tone that suggested she didn’t know which was worse. 

Castiel, who had his own reasons for wishing to avoid marriage, felt an uncharacteristic wave of gratitude for the fact that his aunt was such a high stickler. Though it might save the family fortunes, he knew he could not be all that a wife would wish. He would not subject a woman to a lifetime of disappointment in order to get his hands on her money. Instead, he was more than happy to focus his attention on helping his sister to contract a suitable match.

Tonight was the night of the LaCroix ball. It promised to be a grand squeeze, which, while not something Castiel enjoyed, was an ideal way to for Hael to see and be seen. Since her presentation ball, each week, Aunt Naomi would select several suitable entertainments, and Castiel would escort his sister to each one. Ten years younger than him, at eighteen, Hael was a lovely girl, with delicate features, thick, dark hair, and the same blue eyes as Castiel himself. She had already attracted a small court of admirers, no doubt drawn in by her bright, vivacious attitude. Surely one of them would be bound to come up to scratch.

Behind closed doors, however, Hael was not all sunshine and charm. Though Castiel had done his best to shield her from the worst of their situation, she could not help but be aware of their difficulties. Recognizing Castiel’s only good evening coat, her lips pressed into a thin line, and she stepped forward to adjust Castiel’s neckcloth, something he could never get quite right without a valet’s talents. When she was finished, Castiel offered her his arm.

“Do you think anyone will know I did my curling papers myself?” she asked fretfully as they descended the front staircase. “Some of the girls are such spiteful gossips. If they learned I have no maid…” she trailed off as they came to the door of their father’s study, standing slightly ajar. “Has he gone out gambling again?” she asked Castiel in a low tone.

He poked his head carefully around the door to check, and pulled back with a relieved shake of his head. “He is asleep on his desk, and as likely to stay there until morning. I’ll find Mrs. Tate and ask her not to disturb him. Will you wait for me in the hall?”

Hael nodded and they separated, her to wait in the front hall, and him to the kitchen to seek out the housekeeper and request that she leave his father to sleep. As long as he was passed out in his study, Charles Shurley could not be off squandering what little money remained. 

They met up again by the door, and were met by their aunt’s waiting carriage.

“Well,” Lady Milton said, eyeing them sharply over her lorgnette when Castiel handed Hael in, “you certainly took your time. Let’s be off.”

Obligingly, Castiel gave the signal to the coachman, and they set off at a smart trot, ready to join the glittering world of the ton.

*****

“Cas,” a jovial voice said in his ear, as a warm hand clasped his shoulder. “Am I glad to see you here.” Like a flower towards the sun, Castiel turned to find the Marquess of Winchester grinning at him. “Escorting your sister again?”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted his old friend, trying to keep all the warmth he felt from shining through in his voice and failing miserably. “And yes, I am. My aunt has her in hand right now.” He nodded across the crowded ballroom to where the Dowager Lady Milton held court, her great-niece beside her. “I’ve been sent to fetch the lemonade.”

“Let me come with you,” Dean offered. “I’ll beg your sister’s hand for a dance. That ought to gratify Lady Milton, and raise your sister’s cachet on the marriage mart.” He winked, and Castiel couldn’t help but laugh. As the highly eligible, young Marquess of Winchester, Dean was the epitome of charm, flattering the hopeful misses with his attentions, while never singling any one girl out enough to raise expectations. Half the unmarried ladies, and a good number of the married ones, fancied themselves in love with him.

Castiel could not blame them. After all, he had been in love with Dean since their schooldays, when Dean had been merely—if the word merely could apply in such a case—the Earl of Lawrence, the courtesy title he had held while his father was alive. Even at school, as only the younger son of an unimportant baron, Castiel might have been considered beneath Dean’s touch, but the freckle-faced boy had never paid much regard to distinctions of rank. 

Their friendship had been cemented when Dean woke weeping one night from a nightmare of the fire that had torn through his home as a child and nearly killed his mother. Castiel hadn’t thought twice about climbing into the other boy’s bed and stroking his hair as Castiel’s mother had used to do when he was small. A year later, when Castiel’s mother had died in childbed, giving birth to Hael, Dean had returned the favour.

They’d shared a bed frequently after that, and as they’d grown from boys to young men, the nature of that sharing had changed. It was not uncommon, in the hotbed of new urges that was a bevy of pubescent boys cooped up together at school, for boys to experiment together. Dean and Castiel had been among those who followed the tradition, trading careful touches and quiet gasps beneath the sheets, holding perfectly still as the teachers passed by on their rounds, lest they be caught.

Castiel had been hopelessly in love with Dean ever since. But while such behaviour might be tolerated amongst school boys, and even among the hallowed halls of the country’s universities where Dean and Castiel had continued their trysts, grown men were expected to put such things behind them and begin the search for a wife—or at least for an opera dancer with whom to pass the time. Castiel had never felt the urge for either.

After Oxford, they had parted ways, Castiel to answer his great-aunt’s summons to town, Dean to attend to his ailing father and eventually to take up his title. They had exchanged letters, full of innocuous things, not daring to hint that there had even been any more between them. Eventually, after his brother Lucien’s arrest and conviction, Castiel had ceased to write altogether, unable to bear to read what his friend would say. The years after had been long and lonely, as his family had slipped ever closer to disaster. At first, Castiel had retreated to his family’s country seat, but when the situation had become dire, they had been forced to sell the home that had belonged to their family for generations. Castiel had returned to Shurley House in London, though he had gone about as little as possible in society. 

It was only since the start of this Season, when it had been acknowledged that Hael must make her come out and try to attract a husband before the situation became any worse, that Castiel had rejoined the ton. Although Hael’s presentation ball had been yet to take place, Naomi had approved a visit to the theatre for the girl, provided she chaperone and Castiel act as an attentive escort. It was during the interval that Dean had presented himself at their box.

“Cas,” Dean had greeted, practically beaming, pushing his way into the box without waiting for an invitation. “I thought I recognized your devastatingly handsome face. It’s been too long.”

Aunt Naomi looked torn between horror at the informality taking place directly before her young niece, and impressed that Castiel appeared to be on intimate terms with a Marquess, and the Marquess of Winchester at that. Taking pity on her, Castiel had performed the proper introductions. The Dowager Viscountess and the Marquess were naturally acquainted, being ranking members of society, but Hael performed marvellously at her first introduction to such a prestigious personage, neither wilting away, nor putting herself forward too boldly. 

Dean had paid her a pretty compliment, well within the bounds of propriety, but then he had turned his focus back to Castiel, dividing his attention between trying to catch up on the years they had missed and analysing the show that they had seen thus far. His observations were witty and insightful, but all too soon the call had gone up for the audience to resume their seats before the second act. Before he had excused himself, Dean had touched two fingers to Castiel’s arm—he felt them burning him straight through the fabric of his coat and shirt. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of each other this Season,” he had said, before tipping his hat to the ladies and departing.

Alone in bed that night, Castiel had turned the words over and over in his mind, trying to convince himself that Dean had only said them to be polite. But then Dean had made a point of approaching him during Hael’s presentation ball, where they ended up talking through two sets before they’d remembered that they ought to stand up with some of the ladies for the rest of the dances. And after that, Dean had approached him again and again, at every entertainment where they found themselves, and soon their friendship had resumed, consuming Castiel every bit as much as it ever had before.

Retrieving the lemonade took longer with Dean in tow—he was acquainted with everybody, it seemed, and everyone wanted a piece of his attention. They were stopped frequently to exchange bows and polite greetings with the Lacroix’s other quests whom Dean seemed to know, and each time, Dean drew Castiel forward, asking, “Have you met my good friend, Mr. Shurley?” Castiel was not sure how he felt about having so much attention drawn to himself, but it seemed to please Dean, and Castiel was helpless in the face of his obvious pleasure.

“You’ve been making a hermit of yourself these last few years,” Dean accused him, still smiling, as they ladled up the glasses of lemonade. “I mean to find out why.”

“Surely you read the papers,” Castiel responded, trying to keep his tone light. “You know what my brother did. I simply thought it prudent to keep myself out of the public eye after the scandal.”

Dean nodded in acknowledgement, but deflected from the uncomfortable topic, much to Castiel’s gratitude. “So it’s simply my good fortune that you have decided to re-emerge at last, like a butterfly crawling forth from its cocoon.”

Castiel laughed at the absurd metaphor, clearly Dean’s intended goal. “Personally, I would classify myself as more of a moth. And I have emerged because Hael is eighteen and ought to have her Season, just like the other girls her age.” For her sake, especially, he was glad that Lucien’s scandal had long since been replaced on the tongues of the ton with newer, more fascinating gossip. 

They nodded to an older couple, but the full glasses of lemonade provided an excuse for not stopping to talk, and soon they were at the side of Hael, Aunt Naomi, and their entourage. Dean made his obeisances to the dowager, and then to Hael, and solicited her hand for the next set.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I have already promised the next set to Mr. Milligan.” She looked flustered at having to turn down a marquess, but then she brightened. “But I do have the set after that free. It is the supper dance.”

Dean bowed over her hand. “Then I would be delighted to dance it with you, and to escort you in for supper. Cas,” he added, “you and your partner should join us.”

“That would be pleasant.” Castiel turned to a girl who he knew was Hael’s especial friend. “Miss Muriel, would you do me the honour of reserving the supper set for me?”

Miss Muriel agreed, and Aunt Naomi nodded at him approvingly. The shy girl would appreciate the chance to dance and to converse with Hael at dinner, but would not develop any expectations of Castiel, his behaviour clearly that of a kindly older brother, rather than any sort of swain.

Across the room, Dean spied his mother, and excused himself. “I should go play the dutiful son, but I will be back for the supper dance.”

With no excuse to accompany him, Castiel remained behind to be made acquainted with Hael’s Mr. Milligan. He was an exceedingly young man, no more than a year or two older than Hael, with fashionably tousled golden-brown hair and pale blue eyes. There was something familiar in his face, though Castiel couldn’t quite place a finger on it.

With another set to go before the supper dance, he solicited the hand of another of Hael’s friends for the set that was forming, and they joined the ranks of the dancers. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Dean, his filial duties apparently completed, escorting a smiling blonde onto the dance floor. Castiel recognized her as Mrs. Hanscum, a friend of Dean’s, a young widow who by all accounts had had a lucky escape when her philandering husband had taken a drunken stumble into the Thames. She was rather unfashionably enthusiastic, but that did not seem to deter Dean, who had extolled her virtues the first time he had introduced her to Castiel. Castiel had been thrown into company with her several times since, and liked her immensely. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang when he wondered if she and Dean might make a match of it. 

_Stop that,_ he chastised himself. Dean was not his and never really had been. As a young Marquess, Dean would naturally be expected to marry and produce heirs someday, and perhaps it was better if he did so with a woman he considered a friend, rather than with one of the increasingly young crop of debutantes who were presented every year. Castiel shook off these thoughts, and turned his attention back to his partner as the music started.

*****

As Castiel had expected, Hael and her friend chattered between themselves throughout supper, and he and Dean were free to converse. Dean spoke earnestly about the reforms his was trying to bring about in Parliament, and Castiel offered his own ideas to Dean’s. At some point in the future, he would have his own place in the House of Lords, able to urge change, but for the time being, Baron Shurley neglected his seat, which sat empty more often than not. Even that future was more of a say than Castiel had ever expected to have. The seat had been meant to be Lucien’s, but he had been disinherited by writ before being transported. As much as it hurt to think such things about supplanting his brother, Castiel was glad. He shuddered to think of the selfish ends Lucien could have pursued with a seat in the House.

As supper ended, the people around them began to trickle back into the main ballroom. Castiel prepared to escort Miss Muriel back to her mama, but Hael stopped him. “I left my shawl in Great-Aunt Naomi’s carriage. Will you accompany me to fetch it?”

“Of course.” He stood, offering his arm to his younger sister. To Dean, he asked, “Perhaps you could escort Miss Muriel back to her mother?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Dean bowed to the girl, and she giggled before taking his arm. “I’ll see you later, Cas?” Dean asked in a low tone.

Castiel tried not to read too much into Dean’s desire to spend yet more time with him at this ball. “Most likely. I imagine we’ll stay for some time.” He bowed correctly over his supper partner’s hand, and watched as Dean led her away, before he and Hael headed towards the grand hall where they had entered. 

A liveried footman held the door open for them, and they stepped out into the nighttime. The square was lined with coaches, and Castiel sought out the one that bore Lady Milton’s insignia.

Instead, with a shake of her head, Hael drew him into a patch of deeper shadows. “Hael, what—?” he began.

She held a finger to her lips, and withdrew something from her pocket. “Look what I found in the ballroom, tangled in the hem of my dress.” She held out the object.

Castiel took it in in stunned silence. In the palm of her hand, Hael held a diamond-encrusted brooch, easily the size of a horse chestnut. Even in the dim lighting, he could tell that it was expertly cut, likely worth a small fortune.

Hael’s face shone. “Can you imagine what it would be worth,” she whispered, “if we were to sell it? All our money problems would be over. You wouldn’t have to take employment! It wouldn’t matter if I don’t make a match this Season. We wouldn’t even have to tell Papa, so he couldn’t gamble it away!” Her lips parted breathlessly, as she waited for Castiel to concur with her plan.

“No,” he told her, plucking the brooch from her hand and turning it over in his own. “This belongs to someone, and we must return it.”

Hael’s face fell. “I didn’t steal it. Someone lost it, and they obviously have not missed it yet. I bet whoever she is, she has so many jewels that losing one won’t matter. But it would mean ever so much to us.”

“No,” Castiel said again. “Hael...” he began, not sure how to impart the seriousness of what she was suggesting upon her. He did not think her malicious, only misguided and desperate, but it was not right, and more than that, it was too great a risk.

Before he could gather the right words, a voice interrupted them, low and insinuating. “Well, it comes as no surprise that when I set out to find a jewel thief, I discover members of the Shurley clan. I always did say, after what happened with your brother, that there was bad blood in the family. I have no doubt that many of the guests in that ballroom would agree with me, if only they were given a little reminder.”

Castiel’s hand clenched around the brooch. “Adler,” he greeted coldly. 

Zachariah Adler was an extremely wealthy man from a very old family, and welcomed in the best circles for those reasons, even if his rather too keen interest in gathering and hoarding the secrets of the ton had made him unpopular in certain sets. Among the highest sticklers, however, he had carved himself a niche as a moralizer ready to cast down judgements on any who put a foot astray. He had been one of the most vocal supporters of Lucien’s punishment, and while Castiel could not say that Lucien had not deserved the judgement that had rained down on him, the constant aspersions being cast upon his family, in a chorus led by Adler himself, had been the driving force behind Castiel’s choice to isolate himself until recently.

“I think you will find,” Castiel went on, “that, in fact, we found the brooch, and were attempting to discover its origins, in order to return it to its owner.” 

Adler looked bored. “Is that so? How odd. I could have sworn I heard Miss Shurley suggest keeping the brooch for yourselves to sell.”

Castiel’s blood ran cold. “She is a child who made an impulsive suggestion. One which I’m certain she regretted immediately.”

“Not such a child,” Adler commented, “or your family would not be bringing her out in society. But then, there is the matter of your insolvency that you are working so hard to keep under wraps. It must be so difficult to fund a come-out season while your father so recklessly buries your family in debts, and it’s likely to be the only Season Miss Shurley gets, if you cannot manage to marry her off. Such a pity.”

“What makes you think our family is in debt?” Castiel demanded, and Adler laughed, a slimy, ingratiating laugh.

“I make it my business to know such things, of course. But think, if the news were to come out that the Shurley family is on the verge of financial disaster, right as it was revealed that you were in possession of Lady Winchester’s missing brooch—” 

Castiel concealed his dismay. Of course it was his luck that the brooch belonged to Dean’s mother. 

“—And if someone were to remind the ton of your brother’s… shall we call it an indiscretion? I imagine the outcome would be disastrous for you, as well as for your sister.”

Castiel glared. “What is it you want?”

Adler’s smile was unpleasant. “I am so glad you wish to be cooperative. I want information. And as the Marquess of Winchester’s dear, _dear_ friend, you are perfectly placed to bring it to me.”

*****

It was with a grim countenance that Castiel returned Hael to his great-aunt, and scanned the room for Mary, the Dowager Marchioness of Winchester. He found her, looking blonde and elegant, in a small knot of her friends, deep in conversation with Viscount Singer and her eldest son. Castiel’s stomach swooped. With his mind full of Adler’s claims, it was bad enough that he would have to face Lady Winchester, but to have to look Dean in the eye as well and pretend that everything was fine? He very being rebelled at the thought.

As was Castiel’s luck, Dean spotted him first, and his face lit up with a boyish grin that, despite himself, Castiel couldn’t help but want to kiss off his face.

“There you are. I thought you might have left without saying farewell.” Dean ushered him into the group, most of whom Castiel had already been introduced to. He exchanged a firm handshake with the gruff Viscount Singer, before turning inevitably to Lady Winchester. “Mama,” Dean presented him. “You remember my friend Castiel Shurley?”

“Of course,” Lady Winchester answered, as Castiel bowed formally over her hand. “I haven’t seen you since you were a boy, Mr. Shurley. It is pleasant to meet you again. Though I am afraid I no longer carry sweetmeats in my pocket for my son and his friends,” she added with a wink.

Castiel was startled into a laugh, and Dean nudged him with his elbow. “What she means,” Dean said in conspiratorial tones, “is that I already found them and polished them off.”

“You joined our conversation at just the right moment,” Lady Winchester told Castiel. “My son and I were just discussing arranging a small house party at Lawrence Park, as it’s not too far from London. As my son’s close friend, naturally you would be invited, and your sister as well.”

Castiel’s heart sank. A house party would give him the perfect opportunity to seek out the information that Adler desired, and as such, was to be dreaded. “You are too kind,” he murmured, “though I did not seek you out in order to garner any sort of invitation. I merely wanted to return this.” Discreetly, he drew the brooch out of his pocket and presented it to her. “I believe you must have dropped it. My sister found it tangled in her hem.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, accepting the glittering ornament. “The dratted clasp on this thing always was so finicky.” She turned to Viscount Singer. “Sir, if you would.”

“For you, ma’am.” Viscount Singer took the brooch from her, and carefully fastened it to the front of her dress.

“Thank you, Robert.” Turning back to Castiel, she added, “If you were not already on the guest list for the house party, you would certainly be added now. But there is no need for you and my son to stand around with us fusty old folks. Go kick up your heels or whatever you young bucks do. I will make sure you and Miss Shurley receive your invitation.”

Heart full of dread, Castiel had no choice but to bow to her and murmur a quiet, “Thank you, ma’am,” before Dean linked Castiel’s arm with his and led him back into the heart of the crowd.

*****

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Dean observed, as he let fly the first of his darts. In his waistcoat, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal strong, freckled forearms, he was impossibly beautiful. Castiel was entranced. “Not that you aren’t always Mr. Serious,” Dean added, letting fly the second and third darts in succession, and strolling up to the dart board to examine where they clustered together near the bullseye,“but you’ve been quieter than usual since after the supper dance. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” Castiel lied, readying his own darts, as Dean pulled his from the target and stepped aside. “I’m simply not used to all these social engagements. I suppose I’m tired.”

Only the two of them occupied the LaCroix’s billiards room, though the ball was still going strong. After taking their leave from Lady Winchester, they had done the pretty and danced another two sets each, partnering with young women who seemed in danger of being wallflowers, before feeling free to take themselves off to quieter pastures. Dean, who had been inside the LaCroix’s home before, and knew of Castiel’s aversion to gambling, though not the reasons why, had suggested the billiards room, rather than joining the card tables that had been set up in the drawing room. There were no wagers laid between them on the outcome of their game. Rather, the game of darts only served as a test of their skills.

Castiel tossed each of his three darts in turn, smiling proudly as they all clustered together in the very centre of the ring. Dean whistled in awe.

“I hope you weren’t offended by my mother’s invitation,” Dean spoke up, while Castiel gathered his darts up again.

Castiel turned and stared. “Offended? Not at all. It was extremely kind of her to invite me. But do you truly want me there?”

It was Dean’s turn to stare, baffled. “Of course I want you there. It isn’t to be an extravagant party, mind you. Just a gathering of family and friends, all good company. Besides, I want you to meet my nephews. Clever little tykes. You’ll like them.”

“Nephews?” Castiel enquired. “I hadn’t realized that Samuel had set up his nursery already.”

“Oh, yes.” Pride shone from Dean’s countenance as the topic turned to his younger brother. “Sam married young, to Miss Jessica Moore. He was lucky to have snapped her up, too. She was known as a diamond of the first water during her Season, you know.”

Castiel had a vague recognition of the name, but that had been the Season when Lucien’s scandal had hit, and he had dropped out of the social scene rather abruptly. “And they have two sons?”

Dean nodded proudly. “They got right on filling the nursery. Two little boys, four and two. The best heirs a man could ask for.”

“Surely you intend to have heirs of your own some day,” Castiel remarked, though he did not at all relish the thought. He braced himself for the confirmation.

Instead, Dean gave him a strange look, his lips pursed together in a way Castiel did not understand. “I do like children,” he said, “though I had no immediate plans to have any of my own.”

“Good. That’s… good,” Castiel said awkwardly, and winced at his own clumsy tongue. “I mean, since you don’t appear to be courting anyone at this time.”

Again, Dean gave him that look Castiel could not interpret, though he did not respond to the remark. Instead, he got back into position before the dart board and took aim. “This time, I’m going to beat your score. Just you see.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep eluded Castiel that night, until the grey fingers of dawn were already peeking through the curtains. Hael had headed up to bed immediately on their return, her manner subdued. Castiel had looked in on the study and had found his father still passed out on his desk, smudged and illegible manuscript pages all around. When Charles Shurley was not out gambling, he was working on his magnum opus, an endeavor that had taken years, and had thus far yielded no fruit.

With a sigh, Castiel approached his slumbering father and shook him gently by his shoulder. Charles grunted and scrunched up his face. “Come along, father,” Castiel urged. “Let’s get you to your bed.”

Grumbling and loose limbed, Charles allowed his son to help him to his feet, swaying heavily into his chest. “Bless you, son, bless you,” he said. “My eldest son might be the devil, but at least I have you.”

Castiel said nothing as he helped his inebriated father to shuffle towards the stairs. Although it had not yet been evening when Charles had set to drinking in his study, he was clad in the ratty brocade dressing robe that he had favoured for years and his face sported at least two days worth of scruff. The smell of the alcohol was almost strong enough to make Castiel gag.

When his father had been safely deposited in bed, Castiel had at last retired to his own room, shoulders slumping as he closed the door behind him. Slowly, as though his bones ached as much as his spirit did, he set about removing each item of his clothing, setting them meticulously aside to be cared for properly in the morning. He could not afford for his best suit of clothes to become shabby.

There was no fire burning in the hearth, and he used no candles, preferring to undress in the dark to spare the expense. He donned a nightshirt and slipped beneath the covers, but despite his exhaustion, sleep did not come, his mind far too occupied with what Zachariah Adler had demanded of him. 

“I have reason to believe that the former Marquess of Winchester’s marriage to Mary Campbell was never properly legitimized,” Adler had declared in his insinuating tones. “You are already in the current Lord Winchester’s confidence, so it should be no great hardship to find proof of the illegitimate nature of that union.”

Castiel frowned. “But that would mean the current Lord Winchester—”

“—Is not the Marquess of Winchester at all, and is instead only the old lord’s by-blow, yes.” Adler attempted a sorrowful look, but it was belied by the glee in his tone. 

“But why do this?” Castiel demanded. “What gain do you foresee in ruining a good family like this?”

“Ah ah,” Adler chastised. “That’s not for you to know. Naturally, you may find this task difficult, given your close, personal friendship with the soon-to-no-longer-be Marquess, but when you falter, I’m sure you will think of your sister and the future that awaits her if news of this… indiscretion—or of your family’s really rather abject poverty—were to become known. It would be such a pity.” He shook his head sadly. 

Hael glared, her mouth pinched into a thin line. She was pale, however, Castiel saw, and there was the faintest of tremors in her hands. Her future was already dangling by such a tenuous thread; he knew he could not be the means of snapping it, no matter how he despised the thought of hurting Dean.

Adler’s claim sounded ludicrous, anyway. Surely the chances of it being true were too slim to concern himself with, weren’t they? 

He squared his shoulders. “Very well,” he agreed, the words distasteful in his mouth. Notching his chin upwards, he added, “If you will excuse us? There is far more congenial company to be found inside.” He offered an arm to Hael, who took it, her own chin raised at a haughty angle.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she pronounced with a little sniff. 

Adler sketched an ironic bow. “Farewell. I will not be joining you inside.”

Castiel shuddered, remembering. And after that, to have to endure Lady Winchester’s kindness and Dean’s solicitousness, knowing that he had agreed to help their enemy bring about their downfall and the downfall of their entire family.

Dean had nephews, he remembered, tossing onto his other side, in the hopes that sleep would find them. If this scandal were to fall on their family, those children would be forever tarred with its brush as well. 

He felt abruptly nauseous. Turning onto his back, he pressed his head down into his pillow, praying to a God he had long lost faith in to help him find his way out of this morass. There was none. Of course there was none. 

Failing that, he prayed for sleep. At long last, it came.

*****

Castiel arose late and took the time he had not the night before to properly care for his evening clothes. Dressed, and with his evening clothes fit to be used once more, he made his way downstairs to dine on a breakfast of tea and toast. If he could, he would make it stretch to his mid-day meal as well. A peek in the study showed his father hard at work on his manuscript, swathed once again in the ubiquitous dressing gown.

He stopped to collect the post from the front hall, then went in search of his sister. He discovered her in the drawing room with his aunt Naomi. 

“Ah, Castiel, there you are at last,” was Aunt Naomi’s greeting. “I was just telling Hael that I will take her with me to call on my modiste, and then we will be at home at Milton House during the afternoon. I have already instructed your gentlemen callers that they may visit you there under my supervision,” she added to Hael. “Will you be joining us?”

Before he could answer in the affirmative—the only possible answer, really—there came a knock on the door. “Pardon me,” he excused himself, moving towards the entry to admit the caller.

Mrs. Tate, the housekeeper, beat him there. She favoured him with a kindly smile. “Now, now. It’s not the thing for you to be answering your own door. Don’t you worry; I have it in hand.”

It was not quite the thing to have the door answered by the housekeeper rather than by a manservant either, but Castiel hoped against hope that Dean had not noticed, for that was who was stood on the other side of the door. His eyes found Castiel immediately.

“I hope you are happy to see me,” he teased Castiel, “because if not, you ought to have waited out of sight of the door. Now, if your housekeeper tells me you are not at home, I will not believe her.”

“I am at home,” Castiel answered, “though I fear not for long, if my Aunt Milton has any say in it. She has asked me to accompany her and Hael. But please, come in.”

Dean’s face fell, even as he stepped into the entryway. “That’s a pity. If they could spare you, I was hoping you would agree to ride in the park with me. It’s such a fine day, and two such handsome gents as ourselves ought to be making a splash on horseback, don’t you think?”

“...Oh.” Castiel hesitated. He had always enjoyed riding, but the Shurley family had sold the last of their horses nearly nine months ago. “I would love to, but…” 

“Right,” Dean said, already looking resigned. “You have your duties to your aunt and sister. I can’t expect you to be at my beck and call.”

Castiel hated that expression on Dean’s face. “That’s not it. We don’t keep any horses in the city, Dean,” he explained, avoiding his eyes in the hopes that Dean wouldn’t see his embarrassment. Would Dean guess their straitened circumstances?

It seemed not. “That’s very practical of you,” was all Dean had to say on the subject. “But it’s no matter. I have a prime piece of horseflesh for you to try. I think the two of you would get along well. What do you say?”

Damn the man. Castiel could not resist him. “Let me make my excuses to my aunt. She would hardly like me to shun a Marquess, I’m sure.”

Dean laughed. “If only she knew I’m the same boy who used to catch frogs with you and bring them into lessons.”

Castiel’s eyes sparkled. “Poor Master Shrike nearly came out of his skin when yours ribbited during recitation.”

Dean’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned wider. “Yours was much better behaved.”

The two men shared a chuckle at the memory of their youthful antics. They lapsed into silence, still smiling at each other. At long last, Castiel forced himself to look away. 

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I’ll be just a minute.” With an awkward little bow, he ducked out of the room to consult his great-aunt’s pleasure.

*****

Thus excused from attending his aunt, Castiel and Dean strolled leisurely towards Dean’s home. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Dean said, as they walked, “but I have ordered a luncheon before we head out. Fresh air always makes me hungry.”

“If I recall from our school days, everything makes you hungry.”

“Exactly.”

Castiel’s stomach took that moment to make its hunger known. It seemed that tea and toast did not an adequate meal make. He blushed miserably. 

Dean caught his discomfort. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed by,” he assured him. “As you said, everything makes _me_ hungry. But don’t worry, Cook should have laid out something to sate you.” He opened his own door without knocking and waiting for his footmen, and led the way towards the dining room, pausing to buss his mother on the cheek as she passed them on her way out.

“Mr. Shurley,” she greeted. “How lovely to see you again. I am going out driving with Viscount Singer. Perhaps we will see you in the park later.”

“Thank you, my Lady. It is lovely to see you as well.”

“Oh no,” Lady Winchester protested. “None of this ‘my Lady’ business. You have been friends with my son for far too many years for us to stand on ceremony.”

“As you like, ma’am,” he responded.

She clicked her tongue in a fond manner. “Oh well, I suppose that’s the best I can get out of you for now, but in private, my friends all call me Mary.”

Castiel must have looked like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights, because Dean chuckled. “I think you’ll have to let him work himself up to that one, Mama.”

She laughed. “Oh, very well. I’ll take my leave.” To Castiel she added, “Make sure my son saves the best of Cook’s tidbits for you. He will eat them all if you let him.”

Dean’s aggrieved protest followed her down the hall, but his eyes were merry as he ushered Castiel towards the dining room doors. 

*****

They passed a congenial half hour eating before they made their way to the Winchester stables so that Dean could introduce Castiel to his mount. 

“Cas, meet Continental.”

Castiel happily greeted the golden stallion with an apple plucked surreptitiously from the dining room. Dean winked and offered an apple of his own to his mount, a magnificent black mare with fire in her eyes, rather incongruously named Baby. Castiel concealed a laugh behind his hand as he watches Dean murmur sweet nothings to his horse.

Dean whirled on him with a pointed finger and dancing eyes. “Don’t think I don’t see you laughing at me, but I’ll have you know that Baby here is a lady and deserves proper wooing.”

“It must be very good practice for you,” Castiel said solemnly.

Dean opened his mouth as if to say more, but at that moment the grooms who had met them when they entered the stables reappeared with saddles and bridles in hand, and Dean and Castiel stepped aside to let them do their work. Dean tipped each of them with a shiny coin before they rode out.

It had been a number of years since Castiel had visited Hyde Park regularly, having preferred to stay away from the gathering places of the ton after Lucien’s scandal. He had missed the wide, green space, he realized as they entered the park, though he could have done without quite so many well-dressed people thronging the main thoroughfares. 

It was a fine, sunny day, with just the hint of a crisp breeze to keep the park-goers alert. Dean and Castiel trotted along a slightly less crowded path, nodding to their acquaintances but not stopping to converse. Castiel, for his part, revelled in the feeling of being on horseback once again, appreciating the beast’s power between his thighs, made all the better by Dean at his side. How he had missed this!

How he would miss this again if he betrayed Dean, he thought with a pang. He gave himself a sharp internal shake to dispel the gloomy thought.

Deeper into the park, they veered away from the populated areas, Dean leading the way to a long green stretch where they could let the horses have their heads. 

“Race you?” With a whoop he urged his powerful black mare into a gallop, and Castiel did the same with Continental, only a beat behind. They thundered down the open green, the wind rushing in their faces. Castiel had to clutch his hat in one hand to keep it from flying away, knowing when they finally pulled to a halt, his hair would be a tousled mess.

They raced down the green, neck and neck, the horses’ powerful muscles shifting beneath them. For the length of their gallop, Castiel was completely free for the first time in years, feeling almost as if he had wings.

It was a breathless grin Castiel turned on Dean when they reached the treeline and finally pulled their horses back into a trot. “I have missed that.”

Dean’s own countenance was shining. “Then you must come riding with me more often. Or even without me, whenever you please. I will have Continental kept for you to ride anytime you like.”

“You are far too generous,” Castiel told him, as they eased their mounts into a leisurely walk.

“Nonsense. One cannot be too generous with a good friend.”

A good friend. But Castiel was not a good friend, was he?

He wouldn't think on it now. He couldn’t. He was determined to enjoy this afternoon with Dean. Adler and his demands were not allowed to spoil it, not yet.

They lapsed into a companionable silence, letting their horses amble comfortably along, looping gradually to rejoin the more populated areas of the park. As they made their way back along the path, they spotted a familiar figure perched primly in a curricle. 

“Is that your sister?” Dean asked. “I thought she was being dragged about by the dragon.”

“I thought so as well,” Castiel admitted. “My aunt must consider this a good prospect, to have changed her plans so suddenly.”

As they rode closer, Castiel was able to make out his sister’s companion. Perched beside her, handling the reins, was young Mr. Milligan. Aunt Naomi’s maid rode behind to lend Hael countenance.

“I wonder if the vehicle and horses belong to him,” Castiel murmured for Dean’s ears only. “If he can afford such a vehicle, and so young, then we know why my aunt permitted Hael to ride out with him.”

As they rode closer, Hael spotted them and gave a sunny wave, and Castiel tipped his hat to the pair. Milligan, he was amused to note, nearly didn’t notice, too busy watching Hael with a besotted expression. It wasn’t until Hael nudged him that he looked up, colour high on his cheeks, to notice the two older men and return the gesture.

“Well,” Dean remarked as they rode on. “I can’t say I know anything about that young puppy, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see him knocking down your door for your sister's hand in short order.”

*****

Dean called again the next day.

“I have the urge to go a few rounds at Gentleman Jackson’s,” he announced. “You ought to join me. I remember you being a virtuoso with your fists when we were in school.”

Castiel smiled. “You make me sound like a common thug. I hope you are referring to the sanctioned boxing matches, and not the time I thrashed Inias McMorran for calling William Shakespeare boring.”

Dean’s eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement, making his handsome face impossibly more so. “Can’t it be both? Say you’ll come with me?”

“I’ll come with you. Though I must escort my sister to my aunt’s house first.”

“By all means. I will accompany you, if the young lady will not mind.”

“Oh no,” Castiel teased. “You will be lending her cachet, remember? To be seen with a Marquess as prestigious as you.”

“I’ll lend _you_ cachet,” Dean riposted nonsensically. He pursed his lips when Castiel chuckled at him.

“You already do,” Castiel assured him, as Hael descended the stairs. “His Lordship has offered to walk with us,” he explained to her.

“‘His Lordship’,” Dean repeated, lowering his voice to imitate Castiel. “It sounds so odd, coming from you.”

“No doubt because I remember you in your first pair of knee breeches.”

“Hey. I saw you before you grew into your knee breeches, too, thank you. I have distinct memories of your knobbly knees.” Dean grinned and Hael looked from man to man, as if she could not believe her brother would be so irreverent with a Marquess. Or perhaps, horrible thought, she was simply unused to seeing Castiel laugh.

The two men dutifully squired Hael to Lady Milton’s house, where they made their excuses to the Dowager, and were on their way. They strolled leisurely in the direction of the boxing academy, Castiel racking his brain for ways to bring the conversation around to Dean’s parents’ marriage. Finding no suitable opening, and with little faith in his own ability to disguise his intent, he gave it up as a bad job, and instead tried to prepare his mind for the physical challenge to come.

It was true that Castiel had once been something of a skilled boxer, able to hold his own in bouts against Dean or their other classmates, but as with so many gentlemanly activities, his isolation from the ton had left him long out of practice. He hoped his skills were not too embarrassingly rusty.

They passed Henry Angelo’s fencing club, and then Dean was clapping Castiel on the shoulder and steering him towards the doorway to Jackson’s. “Here we are. Ready to show me what you got?”

There was already a bout in progress when they stepped into no. 13 Bond Street. The air resonated with the grunts of the fighters and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, while other gentleman cheered them on.

“Winchester!” called one of the gentlemen, spotting the newcomers. “Come make a wager. Who do you fancy?”

Dean laughed, easily dismissing the invitation to gamble, much to Castiel’s gratitude. “I know better than to lay a bet on a match in progress, Davies. I’m not here to lay bets. I came hoping for a bout with my friend Mr. Shurley here... Are you acquainted?”

Thus came the inevitable round of introductions, as Dean knew seemingly everyone there, including Jackson himself and the two fighters in the ring. Those gentlemen soon finished up their bout and came and offered their sweaty hands to Castiel as well, as another pair took their places in the ring.

“You and your friend may have the next bout, my lord,” Jackson promised Dean, who thanked him with good humour. 

“Come,” he said, clasping a hand to Castiel’s shoulder. “Let’s watch this match.”

Dean’s warm presence proved to be incredibly distracting as Davies squared off against the son of Viscount Ketch. Castiel found himself paying little attention to the match, though he did sit up and take notice when a cry of foul went up among the crowd. Davies was down on his knees, clutching his groin, while Ketch smugly faced down Jackson’s glare.

“The rules clearly state that there is to be no hitting below the belt,” Jackson reminded him. “This is the third time I have had to warn you, Mr. Ketch. I will have to ask you to leave and not return until you have learned to respect the rules of this establishment.”

Ketch sneered, sauntering lazily over to where his friend Renny Rawlings held his shirt and coat. “I certainly have better things to do with my time,” he sniffed, shoving Rawlings off as he attempted to help him on with his clothing, “than to frequent the establishment of the son of a _builder._ ” He finished dressing and snapped his fingers at Rawlings, who scurried after him as a chorus of displeased mutterings chased him out.

“Good riddance,” Dean remarked under his breath to Castiel. “Ketch is the worst kind of gentleman.”

“He hardly seems deserving of to call himself a gentleman at all,” Castiel agreed, watching another man help Davies from the ring. “I suppose this means that it is our turn now.”

“Indeed.” Gentleman Jackson sketched a small bow in Dean’s direction. “I apologize for the unpleasantness, my lord. The ring is yours.”

“Thank you.” Dean grinned at Castiel. “Shall we?” With no further preamble, he shrugged out of his coat, and began unbuttoning his waistcoat and he headed towards the ring, handing each garment to a young man he had introduced as Mr. Gallagher. Castiel followed suit, passing his own garments to another waiting gentleman. 

Dean climbed into the ring, shedding his final layer as he did so, and Castiel’s tongue nearly glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Dean was, without question, beautiful, and was made all the more so by how long it had been since Castiel had last seen him laid bare. His throat clicked as he swallowed.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean teased, cutting through his reverie, and Castiel’s gaze flew to his face, eyes wide. “What are you waiting for?”

Remembering himself, Castiel gave a short, sharp nod, and stripped off his own shirt. When he looked up again, Dean’s mouth was slightly parted, his gaze fixed on Castiel’s bare chest with a weight that set him to aching. Slowly, Dean’s eyes panned up his body, catching for a lingering moment on his lips, before rising, dark, to Castiel’s own. For a long moment they were suspended there, unable to look away, until a cough from the crowd had them breaking away.

When they squared off and their eyes met again, Dean wore a cocky smirk. “Think you’ve still got what it takes to take me down, Cas?”

Cas met his challenge with a raised eyebrow of his own. “Let’s see if you’ve improved since your schooldays, your lordship.”

With a delighted laugh, Dean came out swinging. From there, Castiel’s focus narrowed to the fight itself, ducking and weaving, the impact of fists meeting flesh, and Dean, Dean, _Dean._ His blood sang in his veins, even as he recoiled from a solid blow to his ribs. He felt _alive._

*****

Alone in his bedchamber that night, Castiel undressed himself slowly. 

Thankfully, the only evening engagement had been an intimate dinner at Milton House, with only a handful of guests who were not family, including two young men his great-aunt considered suitable matches for Hael. For her part, she had disguised her disappointment before Aunt Naomi could see, but had confessed to Castiel in an undertone that she had hoped Mr. Milligan would be present. 

Castiel had not had an entirely unpleasant time, listening mostly to his cousin Gabriel talk about his preparations for an upcoming journey to India. 

“Grandmother doesn’t approve, of course,” he’d said of Lady Milton. “She’s worried that I will come back with an Indian wife. I’m half tempted to do so, to see the look on her face.”

“You would need to marry someone strong-willed, if you plan to subject her to Aunt Naomi’s judgement.”

Gabriel had grinned. “Perhaps I’ll marry the great death goddess, Kali, herself. What do you say?” 

“Perhaps she alone could keep you in line.”

The evening had ended early, and Castiel was glad for the chance to retire to his room, tired from the day and from the match earlier. Since the Season had started, and with it, the frantic need to get Hael well settled, he had had little of privacy and quiet, and he intended to relish every minute of tonight’s unexpected reprieve. 

He stripped off his shirt in front of his battered looking glass, to reveal his chest and torso, covered in purpling bruises from his match with Dean earlier. He pressed a finger to one tender spot just beneath his collar-bone, hissing a little at the pain and the remembered sensation of being so close to Dean. His breath sped up, and he prodded at a darkening spot over his ribs. This time, he let out an involuntary whimper, and his cock twitched beneath his breeches. Dean had left these marks on him.

The challenging sparkle in Dean’s eyes, the smell of his sweat. The give of his flesh beneath Castiel’s hands, and of Castiel’s beneath Dean’s. Castiel pressed his fingers into the bruise again and sucked in a breath, his eyes squeezing closed as he savoured the sensation.

His eyes fluttered open to meet his reflection’s gaze. Deliberately, he unfastened his breeches, removing them and his smallclothes. He stood there, bare before his mirror and took in his form, from his bruised torso, down over his thick thighs and lightly hairy calves to his bare feet, which suddenly seemed oddly vulnerable. He curled his toes against the cold wood of the floor. His cock was heavy between his legs, slowly thickening as he watched his own reflection.

What would Dean think, if Castiel were to bare himself like this to him? Would he be indifferent, having put the folly of their schooldays behind him, or would he want to look, to touch even? Had Castiel imagined the weight of Dean’s gaze on him as he had stripped off his shirt in preparation for their bout? Castiel had been hard-pressed to keep from drinking in the freckled, golden skin of Dean’s chest, so like he remembered it, and yet broader now, the body of a grown man. How he had longed to worship.

Castiel trailed a hand down his torso, pausing to pinch a nipple, and letting his other hand tease over the ridge of his hipbone. His head tipped back, and he bit his lip to suppress the sound that wanted to escape.

He had wished fervently to be alone with Dean, away from the eyes of the men who frequented the boxing club and from Gentleman Jackson himself. He had longed to press his mouth to Dean’s skin, to taste the salt of his throat, to feel his heartbeat beneath his lips, to trail little nips over his ribcage and hear Dean’s gasps. He would have lowered himself to his knees, there in front of Dean, and breathed in the scent of him, opened his breeches and taken him into his mouth, all velvet and steel and heat.

Castiel groaned low as he curled a hand around himself, giving himself a tentative stroke. His breath hitched.

Dean’s hands would have curled in his hair, tugging ever so slightly. His legs would shake, and he would make the most delicious litany of sounds. Castiel could practically feel the stretch of his lips, the thick glide of Dean’s cock, the slight choke as Dean began to thrust. He shuddered, widening his stance and watching himself in the mirror as he stroked himself more firmly, watching the heaving of his chest, the motion of his hand, the wetness beading on the tip of his cock.

He remembered the deep groan Dean used to make right before he came, and his knees nearly buckled as he imagined the bitter thickness of Dean’s release coating his tongue. He braced himself against the dressing table, staring into his own wide, shocked eyes as he squeezed himself to keep from coming too soon.

Would Dean have returned the favour? Castiel bit back a noise as he imagined the wet heat of Dean’s mouth surrounding his cock, those green eyes staring up into his own. He and Dean had been together in many ways, eager to learn about all the pleasure their bodies could give; they had even, in their university days, kept a bottle of olive oil in order to be inside one another, but _this_ had always been Castiel’s favourite, sucking Dean’s cock, or having Dean do the same to him. There was a trust, a vulnerability, a _connection,_ that he craved. He had, after all, been in love with Dean from the very beginning.

If Dean could feel the same—

His hand twisted over the head of his cock, and the fingers of his free hand pressed hard into a bruise. His vision filled with green as he tipped over the edge, and he let out a single, sharp cry, before he could silence himself, shaking through the rest of his orgasm with his lip clenched hard between his teeth. 

With one last shudder, he released his softening cock and folded in on himself, holding himself up with his clean hand pressed to the dressing table while he caught his breath. It was not the first time he had touched himself and thought of Dean, or even the first since their reunion at the start of the Season, but this had been a singularly intense experience, his feelings for Dean perhaps even deeper than he had realized. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotion. Such sentimentality would do him no good now.

He leaned against the solid wood of the dressing table for several long minutes. Finally, he pushed himself upright, staring at his reflection, his eyes wide and dazed in the come-streaked glass. 

Coming back to himself, he cast about for something with which to clean the mess, and found a soft, threadbare towel folded neatly beside his wash stand. Mrs. Tate, still doing her best to care for the Shurley family, even knowing they could not keep her on much longer. Still moving slowly, he wiped his hand clean, then turned to clean the mirror and a stray streak of come on the walnut surface of the dressing table. When he was sure he had missed no drops, he poured some water from the washstand pitcher into the ceramic bowl, and rinsed out the towel, wringing it out and hanging it over the edge of the washstand to dry; it was the least he could do to make Mrs. Tate’s work easier.

He was feeling thoroughly wrung out, himself. Not bothering to don a nightshirt, he slipped himself beneath the covers of his bed, letting sleep claim him before his head had even hit the pillow. 


	3. Chapter 3

In the weeks leading up to the house party, Castiel did not need to contrive reasons to be in company with Dean, or even in his home. The invitations from Dean came almost daily, whether to ride out, or to dine with him or to pass an afternoon fencing or boxing. Other days found Dean and Castiel both guests at the same entertainments, and Dean even contrived one evening to gather a party for Vauxhall that included Castiel and his sister. He even made a point of inviting Hael’s Mr. Milligan along, even though it meant suffering through Lady Milton’s dour glances as she came along to chaperone.

“What do you know of Mr. Milligan?” Castiel asked his aunt one day, when that same young man had called to take Hael walking. Dean had some business in the House of Lords, leaving Castiel with little choice but to dance attendance on Lady Milton.

“He is not in Debrett’s, if that is what you are asking,” was Aunt Naomi’s response. “But I have it on good authority that he is from a good family in one of the northern counties. The father deceased when he was quite young, the mother more recently. Soon to come into a sizeable inheritance, I am given to understand. All in all, not quite what I would wish for for a Shurley, but Hael is hardly in the position to be holding out for a title, and he is clearly enamored of her, so he will do very well if the chit can bring him up to scratch.”

It was a rather cooler assessment than Castiel would have preferred, but it did confirm that his aunt also saw Milligan’s attachment to Hael, and if Castiel could have wished anything for his sister’s marriage, it would be that she made a match of affection. Thus, by his standards, Milligan would make a very good match indeed.

But while Hael’s prospects were looking brighter, a dark cloud still hovered over Castiel.

Despite Adler’s looming threat, Castiel could make only half-hearted attempts to steer his conversations with Dean towards the topic of Dean’s parents’ marriage, and he was just as relieved to let Dean turn them to other subjects without raising an objection—to do otherwise would only make himself suspicious, he told himself. Neither did he take his visits to Winchester House as an opportunity to search for information.

“I am never alone in his home long enough,” was the excuse he put to Adler when the odious man cornered him at the Stark musicale to demand answers for his lack of progress.

“I would so hate to have to ruin your family,” Adler sighed, “especially that bright little debutante, but I am growing impatient.”

Castiel’s blood chilled at the reminder that it was his sister’s future on the line. “I am to attend a house party,” he said slowly, “at Lawrence Park, one week hence. I will have much more freedom to search then. It will not be suspicious for me to seek out time on my own during such a long stay. I will find you your answers.” Secretly, he hoped to find information that would refute Adler’s claims, though he shuddered to think of how Adler would react to such a setback.

“See that you do.” At Castiel’s glare, Adler sighed theatrically. “You sneer at me, but I have not simply set out to ruin a good family. There is a child involved, and an innocent young woman.” Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You see,” Adler went on, “not only was the former Marquess never properly married to Miss Mary Campbell, he secretly contracted a marriage with the daughter of a gentleman. He promised to repudiate his public marriage and to present her as his true wife, but failed to keep his promise, and she was forced to raise her child in shame, as though she had been unvirtuous. Now, that child has tragically lost his mother, and having attained his majority believing himself to be illegitimate, deserves to reclaim what is rightfully his. Don’t you agree?”

“How altruistic of you.” Sarcasm dripped from Castiel’s tone. Adler did nothing purely from the goodness of his heart. If his story were true, then that woman and her son truly had been wronged, but then, so had Lady Winchester and her children. The question remained, what did Adler stand to gain by exchanging one party’s pain for another’s?

Adler shook his head sadly, “It is a pity that you do not trust in my good intentions, Mr. Shurley. But as long as you remember the consequences for failing me, that’s hardly of import.”

He patted Castiel on the shoulder in a condescending manner. “Do enjoy the performance.” He melted back into the crowd, and Castiel was left standing there, fists clenching impotently by his sides, until Dean found him and clapped a warm, reassuring hand on his back.

“I see you had a run-in with Adler.” He grinned, not noticing Castiel’s best imitation of a statue next to him. “What a pompous blowhard. No wonder you’re wound so tight. Come find our seats. I think you’ll like this music.”

The performance was extremely well-done, and exactly the sort of music that Castiel enjoyed letting Dean introduce him to—powerful and commanding, stirring strong emotions within his breast—but Castiel could not relax enough to properly appreciate it, even with Dean on one side and Hael on the other, and it was not because of Great-Aunt Naomi’s constant eagle-eyed presence as Hael’s chaperone. Dean commented on it during the interval, while the ladies were occupied with Mr. Milligan who had come to pay his usual compliments to a rosy-cheeked Hael. The young man was looking rather pink himself.

Not so, Castiel.

“You’re looking pale,” Dean remarked with a frown, “and you’re entirely too tense. Are you unwell?”

“Oh,” Castiel hedged. “No, I am quite well. Simply growing tired from the social whirl I fear.”

Dean’s face fell. “I have been taking up too much of your time. And now I am dragging you off to a house party as well.”

“Not at all.” Castiel placed a hand on his forearm, discreetly hidden from the other concert-goers, despite the unobjectionable nature of the touch. “I am simply unused to moving in ton circles, these days. I am sure the fresh country air will do me a world of good.”

“I shall order everyone to leave you alone,” Dean offered. “You can have all the solitude my house and my grounds can afford.”

Castiel took a risk. “Not complete solitude, I hope,” he said, and there was a pause, heavy with meaning where Dean’s breath seemed to catch. Their eyes met and held for a moment, and Castiel could almost swear—but before he could read the truths in Dean’s gaze, there was a swell of sound from the orchestra as they prepared to begin again. Mind awhirl, Castiel faced forward, but his attention was no more on the music that it was before.

*****  


Lawrence Park was some six hours distance from London, nestled in a shallow valley in Berkshire. On the day of the departure, the Winchester carriage came calling at the Shurleys’ doorstep, where Castiel and Hael were already waiting to depart, in order to avoid the discovery that there were no servants to answer the door.

The decision had been made that Dean and Castiel would ride ahead, so Dean came leading Continental, the golden stallion that he had loaned to Castiel for their rides in Hyde Park, with whom Castiel had become fast friends. Hael was helped into the carriage where she would ride with Lady Winchester, Viscount Singer, and Mrs. Hanscum. It had been decided, to Lady Milton’s grudging approval, that the presence of the two respectable widows would be suitable chaperonage for Hael, and Aunt Naomi would not need to attend herself. The other guests, including Dean’s brother, Samuel, and his wife and children, would travel separately and convene at Lawrence Park later that day.

Hael gave a cheerful wave through the window of the carriage, and with a crack of the driver’s reins it rolled out onto the fashionable thoroughfare. Momentarily left behind in the courtyard, Castiel took the reins of his mount from Dean and swung himself up in the saddle. He took a moment to adjust his hat, and then they too joined the throng.

They rode in companionable silence until they left the city, the clatter of hooves and wheels on the sidewalk, and the bustle of the inhabitants providing all the accompaniment they could need. From time to time, they traded small smiles that warmed Castiel’s insides and gave him that most dangerous of feelings: hope.

Soon the city gave way to countryside, and the sweet sound of birdsong replaced the noise of the city.

“Look,” Dean pointed out as a bluebird flitted past. “You used to enjoy bird-watching as a boy,” he reminisced.

“Yes, and you indulged me, which was very kind of you.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably beneath his coat. “Nothing kind about it. It seemed to make you happy, that’s all.”

“Dean.” A smile tugged at Castiel’s lips despite the persistent ache of guilt in his stomach. “That’s the very definition of kindness.”

Dean pursed his lips and averted his gaze, and Castiel let the subject drop to avoid embarrassing him further. It was both endearing and frustrating, Dean’s inability to accept genuine praise. If it were up to Castiel, he would shower the man in appreciation every day, until he learned to believe it.

“Do you remember the time Bartholomew Harrington convinced me that there was a nest of goshawks on the roof?” he asked instead, turning the conversation to their boyhood escapades. “You helped me shinny up the drainpipe, and were following after when Headmaster Mason caught up.”

“I remember,” Dean said with a laugh. “He gave us a grand old whalloping, and you felt so badly, you gave me all your sweets from home, though you were smarting every bit as much as I was. We gave old Barty a good scare, though. While you were still getting your lashings, I told him you’d fallen and broke your neck. When you came hobbling back into the dormitory, he went white as a sheet. Thought he was seeing a ghost.”

“Is that why he ran from me for a week?” Castiel asked. He shook his head fondly, a snicker trying to escape.

“It’s the least he deserved,” Dean defended himself. “He was always jealous of you and trying to get you into trouble.”

“Jealous of me? Whatever for?”

“What do you mean, what for? You were the smartest boy in our class. No one else could measure up.”

Castiel protested, but Dean was having none of it. They spent the rest of the morning trading memories of their schooldays. Around noon the carriage pulled up at a posting inn, and they joined the rest of their party for a luncheon while the horses were rested and watered.

*****  


After their meal, Dean and Castiel rode on ahead, while the carriage followed at a more leisurely pace. After another hour or so, they crested the small hill that overlooked their destination.

“Voila,” Dean pronounced, spreading a hand towards the building. “Welcome to Lawrence Park.”

Lawrence Park was a smart, squarish building, with two wings jutting out of either side. It was built in the Jacobean style, with a neatly manicured park and a formal garden stretching before the entryway. All in all, from their vantage point on horseback, it looked like a comfortable, stylish dwelling, though from the outside Castiel saw little sign of Dean or Mary’s personal touch.

“It’s a very nice house. Did you spend a lot of time here as a child?” he asked Dean as they rode along the long, tree-lined drive.

Dean shrugged, nonchalant. “From time-to-time, though not very frequently or for very long. My father allowed my uncle to make it his primary residence, and I believe my mother disliked him, so we rarely visited.”

“And your father allowed your mother that much influence?”

“Of course he did. You may have noticed that my mother is a force of nature. And besides, my father was completely devoted to her. It was a love match, you know.”

Castiel hummed noncommittally.

Would a man who was devoted to his wife have knowingly allowed their marriage to continue improperly solemnized, risking her entire future and that of their children if the truth were discovered? Would a man who was devoted to his wife have contracted a second secret marriage—or at least conducted an affair with a woman who could have expected such things? If Zachariah Adler’s claims proved true, then Castiel risked shattering more than just his friend’s social position; he risked destroying his faith in his family and his father’s memory as well.

For the thousandth time, Castiel cursed Adler’s name.

He just needed to buy more time. If he could do the bare minimum to make Adler believe he was cooperating, perhaps he could stretch this out until Hael was well-settled, at which point it wouldn’t matter what scandal fell on his own head or his father’s. Besides, there couldn’t really be any truth to Adler’s assertions, could there?

Dread clenched like a fist in his gut. Something of his dismay must have shown on his face, because Dean shot him a concerned look.

“Is something the matter? Do you not like it?”

Castiel managed a wan smile. “It’s lovely, Dean, and I am grateful to be invited. Shall we ride on or wait for the carriage to catch us up?”

They rode on to ensure the house was prepared. Once the horses were handed off to a groom, Dean introduced Castiel to the butler and let him assure them that the preparations for the house party were well in hand.

“Let me give you the tour,” Dean offered, and Castiel accepted.

As they set off, Dean remarked, “Now, let us hope that I remember my way around. I’ve always thought it was silly that I own so many homes, but the properties are entailed, so I can’t dispose of them. Sam has use of my Dorset property, but as for this one, well, I might as well make occasional use of it.” He opened a series of doors as they passed, allowing Castiel looks into the rooms beyond. “Morning room, drawing room, library, billiards room. Do you want a closer look at anything?”

Castiel shook his head. “That’s quite alright, Dean. I’m sure I will have plenty of time to explore more thoroughly over the next fortnight. If you will permit it, that is.”

“Of course. You’re welcome in any room in this home. Let me show you the rest of this storey, and then I can show you to your bedchamber. I asked for you to be set up in the blue room.”

The tour continued, and Castiel was pleased by the comfortable room he has been assigned, though he wondered why Dean had insisted he be given that room particularly. Dean showed him his own rooms as well, next door to Castiel’s own. The master suite began with a private study, furnished with an oak desk and bookcase and several comfortable armchairs.

“I admit,” Dean said, as Castiel moved to examine the books, “that I do not make much use of this room. The books, and the papers in the desk, for that matter, belonged to my father, or perhaps even my uncle. I’ve always preferred the library.”

He led Castiel through the dressing room, where there was nothing to see, as his trunks would be arriving with the carriage, and through to the bedroom, which was furnished in shades of gold and wheat.

“It’s not to my taste,” he admitted, “but I spend so little time here that it hardly seems worthwhile to update it.”

There was another door in the bedchamber, which led to a mirrored set of rooms, where Dean’s wife would reside, if he had one. “Though that’s unlikely to happen,” Dean added, “so they go to waste.”

“You haven’t thought about getting married someday?” Castiel asked, swallowing down the bubble of sorrow the thought caused. “If not to a debutante, then perhaps to a woman you are already friends with. Mrs. Hanscum, perhaps?”

Castiel faltered at the distinctly odd look Dean gave him, his lips pursing together and something flat in his eyes. “You’re awfully eager to marry me off. Donna Hanscum and I are quite content to remain good friends only, I assure you.”

Dean turned to lead the way out of the room, and Castiel stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I apologize. I did not mean to judge who or even if you choose to marry; I am only concerned that you would close yourself off to a chance at happiness, and I would never wish to see you unhappy.”

Dean seemed to soften at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he turned back to smile at Castiel. “I am open to happiness, Cas. I am simply making sure first that happiness is open to me.”

With those cryptic words, Dean led them back out of his rooms. As he closed his study door behind him and they stepped back into the hall, he offered, “There is still the portrait gallery to see, but the others should be arriving soon. We ought to freshen up before tea, but I can show you this evening?”

He paused, hopeful, and Castiel graced him with a tired smile. “That sounds very pleasant, Dean. I shall see you soon.”

*****  


In the years since Castiel had last seen Dean’s brother, Samuel Wesson had shot up from the scrawny boy Castiel remembered, several years behind himself and Dean in school, to a veritable giant, soft-spoken and friendly. His wife, Jessica, wore blonde curls piled atop her head and a smile with an edge of mischief. Her figure was just beginning to show signs that she was expecting their third child.

Castiel met the Wessons’ other two children as well—John, called Jack, and Robert—active little boys who crawled all over the furniture and their parents and their uncle with impunity, while the adults looked on in fond indulgence. Castiel could nearly hear his Aunt Naomi’s indignation that the children were allowed to roam freely and not confined to their nursery, under the care of a servant, as proper children should be. It made Castiel enjoy their presence all the more.

The two boys let out a cheer when another pair of guests arrived, bringing with them their own young son. The children took off together immediately, the parents of the new child seeming amused by the high spirits on display.

Dean introduced the newcomers as Mr. Mills, and his wife, Lady Jody Mills, who retained her title as the daughter of an earl. The little boy’s name was Owen. “This is my good friend, Mr. Shurley,” he presented Castiel in turn, “and his sister, Miss Shurley. You’re acquainted with everyone else, of course.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shurley, Miss Shurley.” Lady Jody had a face that suggested good sense and good humour, and she shook hands with Castiel and Hael before moving on to greet the rest of the guests, particularly Donna Hanscum, who met her with kisses on the cheek and hands clasped for a long moment, before taking Mr. Mills’s hands as well.

“I have missed you in town. Next year you must come with me.”

Mr. Mills winked. “Only for you could I persuade my wife to go to London, but I’m sure we will all have a lovely time.”

The next guests to arrive were Mr. and Miss Banes, Maximilian and Alicia, a handsome pair of siblings of African heritage on their mother’s side, perhaps twenty years old.

“Thank you for coming,” Lady Winchester said to them. “I particularly want you to meet Miss Shurley. She will be pleased to meet other guests near her own age. The Banes are our friends and neighbours at Wesson Abbey.”

“Oh yes,” Hael gushed. “I am so pleased to meet you. Tell me, Miss Banes, do you paint?” She linked her arm with the other young woman and the three young people drew aside into a merry little group of their own.

With the arrival of the Banes twins, the last of the houseguests were present, though a nearby couple, the Harvelles, with their son and daughter, Ashley and Joanna, would be joining the party for dinner. In the meantime, the guests grouped off, their happy chatter filling the room—Donna Hanscum with the Mills, Hael and the Banes twins, Lady Winchester and Viscount Singer with her younger son and daughter-in-law. Dean and Castiel were left to entertain the children, and if Castiel had not already been in love with Dean, the sight of him, with his head thrown back in laughter and small children hanging from every limb, would have left him hopelessly endeared. Thus they passed the hours until it was time to dress for dinner.

*****  


Dinner was a congenial affair, made yet more pleasant by the addition of the Harvelle family from nearby Rhodes House. Sir William Harvelle was a bluff country gentleman, fond of his hunting and fishing, while his wife, Ellen, was possessed of a no-nonsense air that was belied by her kindness. The son and daughter, Ashley and Joanna, were an energetic pair who delighted in teasing Dean. Castiel felt a pang of jealousy watching Joanna Harvelle touch a hand lightly to Dean’s wrist, but was comforted when Dean showed no reciprocal interest beyond the friendly.

After dinner and the traditional port and cigarettes, Dean surprised his guests by excusing himself from the evening gathering in the drawing room.

“I’m afraid I shall have to be a poor host and leave you in my mother’s capable hands,” he apologized to his guests. “I have promised Cas—I mean, Mr. Shurley—to show him the portrait gallery. Most of you will have seen it already, although, Miss Shurley, Miss Banes, Mr. Banes, you have never been to Lawrence Park either. Would you like to join us?”

“Thank you,” Alicia Banes responded, “but there was a duet Miss Shurley and I wanted to attempt on the pianoforte. Perhaps we will explore the gallery another day.”

“Mr. Banes?”

“Someone must turn the pages for the ladies. I will leave you to a private tour for now.”

“Well then.” Dean chuckled lightly and turned to Castiel. “Shall we?”

They made their way up the main staircase to the long gallery, which was lined on either side by ornately framed oil paintings of a selection of Dean’s ancestors.

“Most of the family portraits reside at Wesson Abbey,” Dean explained, “but I suppose my ancestors ran out of room, or else they banished the ones they care for less here.”

“Did they dislike the quality of the paintings, or their subjects?” Castiel enquired.

Dean laughed. “Both, I believe. For instance,” he indicated a portrait of a stately woman dressed in the style of the previous century. She held a small dog in her hand. “This is my grandmother, Millicent. She never liked her nose in it. My grandfather had to commission a replacement for the main estate.”

“And this one?” Castiel asked, moving along to the next portrait, which appeared technically proficient, and depicted an uncommonly handsome man in a cavalier style—not as handsome as Dean, his treacherous mind supplied, but he did have the same brilliant green eyes. “I don’t see any flaws.”

Dean came up to his shoulder to examine the painting. “Oh no, this one was sent here by the fifth Marquess. It depicts his twin brother, whom he disliked from childhood. Family legend says that after the Marquess cut him off, he took up a life of piracy. As a child, I found him excessively exciting.”

“As any child would.”

They drifted further down the gallery, Dean explaining the histories behind the portraits and the reasons for their banishment to Lawrence Park. Castiel listened attentively, fascinated by the lively way Dean told the tales. He also could not help but try to pick out Dean’s features in the portraits of his ancestors—this one had his smile, that one, the same sweep of cheekbone, yet another, the smattering of freckles that Castiel had always wanted to kiss.

They paused in front of another portrait, from the time of Henry VIII, to judge by the gowns, this one depicting two nearly identical young women. “The twin daughters of the third Marquess,” Dean explained. “They both eloped with unsuitable men the same night, though entirely independent of each other—one with the painter of this portrait. It was a terrible scandal in its day.”

“Are twins common in your family?” Castiel asked, remembering the fifth Marquess’s brother, as well as this pair.

“We get a set every few generations. My father was a twin.” He moved them along to the next portrait, which showed two dark-haired adolescent boys with a pair of hunting hounds. “That’s my father on the left, and my uncle Michael on the right. My father was older by about half an hour.”

“How odd it must be,” Castiel remarked, “to have something so arbitrary as a mere thirty minutes be all that separates you from the title”—or an improperly done signature, he thought to himself.

“I do not know if there was resentment between my father and his brother as adults,” Dean said, “but I do know that, as a boy, my uncle would occasionally pretend to be the Earl of Lawrence in my father’s place, in order to earn favours or escape trouble. I never did know him well, and he died in a hunting accident when I was perhaps nine. As a boy, I was far more concerned with the lack of cousins to play with.”

“He had no children, then?” Castiel surmised.

“No, he never married. Though I suppose he could have a natural child or two tucked away somewhere; by all accounts, he did run rather wild in his day.”

*****  


Castiel woke to a faceful of sunshine the next morning, and upon making his way to the breakfast room, soon found himself agreeing to ride out with Dean, his brother, and Viscount Singer.

“Do me good to get some fresh air,” the older man declared. “Been all cooped up in the city, but your mother insists I come take my seat in Lords and socialize besides. Give me horses and hounds over balls and routs any day.”

“I will have to tell my mother about what a good influence she is on you,” Samuel teased him, and Singer harrumphed.

“She’s a woman to be reckoned with, your mother,” he grumbled in a way that belied how little he actually minded. “Now let’s see what kind of horseflesh you keep in your stables.”

The ride was pleasant, comfortable in a different way than Castiel’s private rides with Dean. The conversation was general and the air was jocular as Dean and Samuel teased the viscount, with whom they clearly had a long acquaintance, over his intentions towards their mother.

“You can make of it what you will,” was his answer. “Mary and I enjoy each other’s company, but neither of us are in a rush to change our state. We both had happy marriages, and we may yet decide that once was enough for either of us.”

It was the opening Castiel had looked for to ask about Lord and Lady Winchester’s marriage, but he couldn’t do so with the other company present. Adler’s demands would simply have to wait, he decided, pushing them to the back of his mind. Far more pressing were the wide open meadows, free from any other members of the ton and begging to be galloped upon. He had missed the country air.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dean turned to him with a grin. “Shall we?” he asked, already nudging his mount faster.

“Yes, we shall.” So saying, Castiel spurred Continental into a gallop, swiftly overtaking his friend.

*****  


“Lady Winchester is so kind,” Hael gushed to Castiel one afternoon, as he took her strolling through the formal gardens. “She has offered Alicia—Miss Banes—and I the use of the easels and any paints we can find. She says she is an indifferent artist who never paints, but it is still so kind of her to allow us to make use of them. And look at this lovely ribbon she has gifted me to trim my bonnet. And do you know?” She lowered her voice. “She has invited me to call her Mary, though I think I mustn’t do so in London, for it would shock Aunt Naomi and the other sticklers something awful.”

“It certainly would,” Castiel agreed. He had so far not been able to bring himself to use their hostess’s given name as invited, feeling far too awkward doing so, especially with a woman who had known him as a boy, but he was getting better of thinking of her that way at least in his own head.

“But just imagine!” Hael went on. “And she is so formidable, you know, but approachable. I told her about Mr. Milligan, you know. I didn’t mention his name, of course, but I said there was one beau I liked above all the others. She said that affection and respect were the most important elements of a good marriage. I believe, whatever Mr. Adler says, that she must have had a good marriage, don’t you?”

“It does seem that way,” Castiel acknowledged, “and I pray that nothing will prove otherwise. If Adler can be made to forego his claim, that would be best. But that is for me to worry about, not you. I will do everything in my power to ensure your future is not jeopardised, I promise.”

“I do not like that man.” Hael gave an exaggerated shudder.

“I am not fond of him myself.” The corner of Castiel’s mouth tugged up wryly. “But let us not waste such a lovely afternoon thinking of him. Tell me, do you feel certain of your Mr. Milligan?”

“Oh yes.”

They strolled onwards, while Hael detailed the virtues of her favourite suitor. As he listened, Castiel rubbed the verdant fronds of a fern between his fingers, his mind turning, as ever, to Dean. In a world where he could marry Dean, would he?

In a heartbeat, he decided.

But what a silly, hopeless thought. Resigning himself, he turned his attention back to his sister. It was her marriage, after all, which must be made to happen.

The sound of bootsteps on the fine gravel pathway alerted them to the approach of company, and they rounded a tall stand of hollyhocks to come face to face with Dean and his mother. Castiel’s foolish heart stuttered.

“Enjoying the gardens?” Dean asked, oblivious to the mortifying direction Castiel’s thoughts had taken before his arrival. “We’ve just come from the ash grove, and I believe I’ve spotted the nest of a firecrest. Want to come with me to see it, Cas?”

“This had better not be an attempt to get me up onto a roof,” Castiel retorted, shoving aside his hopeless preoccupation.

“Never.” Dean clasped a hand to his heart, as if mortally offended, but his eyes danced. “Perhaps I just want to get you alone,” he said, low enough that even Castiel could not be certain he had actually said it.

Before he could respond one way or another, Lady Winchester—Mary—was drawing Hael’s arm into hers. “Walk with me, my dear. Let’s leave these men to their birds.”

*****  


“Dean, that is a wood warbler.” Castiel peered into the branches at the partially obscured nest. “A firecrest would have a yellow and black stripe on his head, with an orange centre.”

“Oh, well,” Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I guess I just don’t have your eye for it. We can head back to the house or the gardens if you like.”

“No,” Castiel responded. “Listen to its song? It may be more common, but it’s still beautiful. Thank you for bringing me to watch it.”

“Anytime, Cas,” Dean answered, but his eyes were on Castiel, not the bird.

“Watch him,” Castiel insisted, and so they did, shoulder to shoulder as the little bird hopped along, going about his business. “Thank you for inviting me out here,” he murmured after some time.

“Like I said,” Dean replied, voice soft, “anytime.”

Some time later, they meandered back towards the house for tea. Their hands brushed against each other as they walked, and Castiel selfishly clung to warmth that suffused his body at the gentle, inadvertent touch. What he would give to have even this much from Dean, always.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel held his breath as he eased open the door to the unused Marchioness’s chambers which adjoined Dean’s. His caution was superfluous; all the other guests were outdoors, enjoying the warm weather, and even the housemaids and other servants had been given the afternoon off to make the most of the sunshine. 

Where the master suite had a study, his lady had a private sitting room, decorated in shades of blue and primrose yellow. The furnishings were outdated by more than a generation—Mary, Lady Winchester, had apparently not felt the desire to redecorate these rooms while her husband held the title, and since her son had become the Marquess, she chose to occupy a different chamber while visiting Lawrence Park. Nevertheless, the maids had kept the room spotless and dust-free, and the sunlight through the window made the whole room seem soft and inviting.

Castiel resisted the urge to linger, knowing it came more from his distaste for the task at hand than from any qualities the room might have had. From the sitting room, he let himself into the mostly empty dressing room, and then into the Marchioness’s bedchamber. There, he hesitated with his hand on the door to Dean’s apartments. Though Dean himself had admitted that he had no particular attachment to these rooms, and this house was not one of the places he considered home, crossing that threshold without Dean’s express permission still felt to Castiel as if he were violating Dean’s inner sanctum.

And wasn’t that exactly what he had come here to do? Not only to invade the privacy of Dean’s apartments, but to do so in search of information that could harm Dean’s family if it came to light. 

_Please, let me find nothing of value,_ he prayed, then felt an immediate flood of guilt as he remembered what failure would mean for Hael’s future. Taking a deep breath, he pressed down on the door handle and let himself into Dean’s bedchamber.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he let out his breath in a whoosh. The air felt hushed with the odd intimacy of being alone in the space where Dean slept. Involuntarily, Castiel’s eyes strayed to the bed, as if he could catch a glimpse of Dean’s sleep-heavy limbs entwined with the sheets. The bed was neatly made, of course, the maids paragons of efficiency. Castiel felt an irrational stab of disappointment, and gave his head a shake, dispelling such nonsensical thoughts. What he was looking for was unlikely to be in the bedchamber.

Chastising himself one final time, he opened the door to the dressing room, now filled with Dean’s clothing, lovingly cared for by his valet, Mr. Lafitte. Castiel did not allow himself to become distracted, passing through to his real object: the study.

He had put off searching this room for most of his stay, despite, or perhaps because of, the niggling sense that if there were answers to be found, he would find them here. Instead, whenever he had found himself unable to justify neglecting his task, he had performed desultory searches of the drawing room, the library, and other more public, and thus less likely places. Not unexpectedly, he had found nothing. But if the old Marquess had kept secrets in this house, where else would he keep them but in his private study? That Dean seemed convinced that his parents’ marriage was one of honesty and fidelity unfortunately proved nothing; he had admitted himself that he had never bothered looking through the contents of this room.

The obvious place to start was the cylinder desk. No documents remained on its surface, but there were several smaller drawers, which Castiel opened and searched through, discovering nothing, and one larger locked drawer. 

Ironically, it was Dean who had taught Castiel how to pick locks, laughing at the other boy’s wide-eyed shock that he knew such a disreputable skill. “How else was I supposed to go on adventures? And besides, Cook started locking away the jelly tarts. I had one of the stableboys teach me.”

_Please forgive me, Dean._

Castiel pulled a stack of papers from the drawer, and searched through them methodically. Much to his relief, they yielded nothing, and he would have put them away, satisfied that he had done all he could do, when his knuckles bumped against the bottom of the drawer, making an odd, hollow sound.

He frowned, and knocked his knuckles against the wood again, then peered closer, noting that the drawer was noticeably shallower than it ought to have been. A false bottom.

With a ball of dread settling in his chest, he fiddled around until he found the means to remove it. He set it aside and let his gaze fall upon the hidden contents. There, atop other yellow-edged pages was what was undoubtedly a certificate of marriage, dated some twenty years ago. The groom’s signature was mostly a scrawl, but Castiel was able to make out part of the surname: “—esson.” Who else could it be but John Wesson, the Marquess of Winchester. Castiel let his eyes shut in defeat.

He sat there for a long minute, his head hung low. There before him, he had the means to stave off disaster for his family, but to do so, he would have to destroy another. With a heavy sigh, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, examining the offending document once again, as if it could lay out his path for him and give him the answers that he sought.

It could not. But, it seemed, it could provide him with another piece of information, one he might be able to use, if he could only figure out how. The bride’s signature was much tidier than her erstwhile groom’s, and there it read, as clear as day, _Katherine Adler._

Before he could contemplate this new revelation further, he heard faint noises from downstairs, possibly signalling the return of the house party indoors. Hastily, he rolled up the certificate and hid it beneath his coat. He replaced the drawer’s false bottom and the papers that had been on top, closing it, and hoping that no one would notice it had been unlocked. If it had been left undisturbed all this time, it seemed unlikely that his indiscretion would be discovered. 

He had only just finished closing Dean’s door behind him, heading towards the library, so that he could pretend to have been in search of a book, when Dean himself rounded a corner, nearly colliding with him. Paper crinkled beneath Castiel’s coat, and he winced, but Dean didn’t seem to notice anything odd.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” Dean asked instead—Castiel had excused himself from the outdoor activities on the basis that he felt unwell. “You’re still looking a little pale.” He lifted a hand, for all the world as if he wanted to press it to Castiel’s forehead to check for a fever, but remembered himself halfway there and aborted the motion.

Castiel’s pallor could probably be attributed to his recent discovery, but he couldn’t tell Dean that. “I am feeling better,” he assured him. When Dean continued to look skeptical of Castiel’s ability to care for his own health, he added, “I was simply in search of a book. I thought I might read by a sunny window.”

Dean seemed mollified, the activity apparently sedate enough that it could not harm Castiel’s delicate—by Dean’s reckoning—state of health. “Just don’t overdo it, Cas” he lectured his friend. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t been yourself lately.”

“I promise you, it’s nothing,” Castiel answered, torn between a warm feeling that Dean had cared enough to notice his troubled state and the very real fear that Dean could discover the reason why. “I only had a headache today, from overindulging last night. I’m hardly going into a decline.”

“Overindulging,” Dean scoffed. “You’ve never had a headache from wine or whiskey in your life. You used to routinely drink me under the table in our Oxford days, and you well know it.”

“I did,” Castiel agreed easily enough, glad to steer the conversation away from his odd behaviour. “But I am an old man, now, nearly thirty. I can’t be expected to keep up with the exploits of my wild youth.” His tone was teasing, but Dean paused before responding, long enough for Castiel to feel a frisson in the air as they both remembered the other things they had got up to in their wild youth. 

Castiel was hit with a sudden memory, of a night near the beginning of their Oxford term when they had taken turns drinking wine from each other’s mouths and licking it from each other’s bodies. It had felt wild and decadent and bacchanal, and the memory alone was enough to make his breath catch in his chest. Something of his sudden arousal must have shown in his face, because Dean’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, their eyes never leaving each other.

“Cas.” Dean lifted a hand to Castiel’s cheek, stepping closer, but then footsteps sounded on the staircase, and they broke apart, breathing too rapidly for a mere conversation between friends.

Castiel brought his arms back sharply to his sides and felt the crinkle of paper. Brought abruptly back to himself, he began backing down the hall. 

“The library’s the other way, Cas,” Dean gathered himself enough to say, though there was an unsteady note in his voice.

“Yes. I—I forgot something in my room.” Castiel backed another few steps down the hall. “Perhaps I’ll see you downstairs.” Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply on his heel and made haste for his room, the better to stash the dangerous piece of paper he was carrying. As he closed the door behind himself, he felt suddenly light-headed, slumping against the wood, infinitely grateful that Dean could not see him now.

*****

By the time Castiel composed himself and selected a book from the library—Robinson Crusoe, a comfortable old favourite—it was coming up to tea time. He brought his book with him to the drawing room, where the other guests were gathering, still flushed and sunbright from their outdoor activities. 

“Do come join us, Mr. Shurley,” Mary called to him when he hovered uncertainly in the doorway for a moment too long. She moved closer to her daughter-in-law, with whom she shared the settee, in order to make space for Castiel. “It’s a pity you missed such a glorious afternoon. My son tells me you weren’t feeling quite the thing.”

“It was only a minor headache,” Castiel assured her. “Lord Winchester has already done the hospitable thing and ensured that I am not dying.”

She smiled a mother’s indulgent smile. “Dean always was quite the mother hen.”

“Mother hen?” Dean spluttered from his spot at the window where he was looking out over the park. The tips of his ears turned a becoming shade of pink. “I’m merely a good host—a good friend.”

“When I was in my confinement when Sam was born,” Mary told Castiel, a twinkle in her eyes, “Dean used to insist on helping the maids carry in my meals and on trying to spoon feed me, never mind that my hands worked perfectly well.”

“I was four.” Dean’s entire face was pink, and it was wholly endearing. 

“Don’t worry,” his sister-in-law sparkled up at him. “We won’t spoil your reputation as the big, bad Marquess.”

They all chuckled at that, and Dean pushed out his lips into that pout that always made Castiel want to kiss it. It worked it’s magic on Castiel this time too, until he recalled that Dean might not be the Marquess much longer—not if Castiel used the information in his possession to save his own family. The laugh caught in his throat, and he missed the speculative glance Dean sent his way.

Tea arrived then, with an assortment of tiny sandwiches and scones with cream and strawberries, which those gathered fell upon like a ravening horde, Dean included in their number, clearly willing to brave more of his mother’s teasing for the sake of the food. Only Castiel found he had no appetite. He took one sandwich and nibbled it for the sake of good form, but barely tasted it. Around him, the usual laughter and chatter went on, and he let it wash over him while his mind was distracted.

Once the tea things were cleared away, everyone settled in to various amusements to pass the time. Dean joined Mrs. Hanscum and the Mills in a game of cards, while Castiel drifted over to an armchair with his book. If Dean stole frequent glances Castiel’s way, he failed to notice. 

At one end of the room, Max Banes, Samuel Wesson and Viscount Singer were in a spirited debate over a heavy tome. Mary watched them with amusement, but declined to join in. For their part, Alicia Banes and Jessica Wesson linked arms and took a stroll around the room. In other ladies it might have been a contrivance to draw the eye, but in this pair, it was for the joy of movement as much as anything. Hael provided a sprightly backdrop to it all at the pianoforte. Like this, they whiled away the rest of the afternoon, until it was near time to dress for dinner. 

As the supper hour drew near, one by one, people began to excuse themselves. Castiel glanced up from his book to watch Mrs. Hanscum and Lady Mills take the last hand in their game, soundly defeating Dean and Mr. Mills. The two ladies shared a look full of meaning that Castiel didn’t know how to parse, and Mr. Mills did not look at all unhappy to have lost. 

“Let me escort you ladies upstairs,” he offered, taking one on each arm as they took their leave.

Dean cleared away the deck of cards, before bowing over his mother’s hand. “Shall I offer you my elbow?” he asked. Samuel Wesson had already left the room with his pregnant wife on his arm.

“That’s quite alright,” Mary assured her son. “I had wanted to have a word with Mr. Shurley before I head upstairs. You go on ahead.” 

Hearing his name, Castiel set aside his book. He hadn’t absorbed any of the old familiar words anyway, his mind occupied with other things. He wondered if Lady Winchester had discovered his deception. He half wished she had.

“Ma’am.” He rose to his feet, as Dean took his leave, carefully composing his features.

Lady Winchester looked around the drawing room, which now looked much larger with only the two of them still occupying it. “The small sitting room will be more comfortable for such a chat, I think,” she decided. Though she accepted Castiel’s offered elbow, it was her who led the way to the cozy sitting room. She allowed Castiel to lead her to one of the armchairs and waved him into one that faced it. With trepidation, he sat.

Mary offered him a reassuring smile. “I have always been grateful for the friendship you showed Dean at school,” she began. “I did not like to send him away, you know, but I thought it would be good for him to learn with other boys, rather than just his brother and a tutor, as if he were too good for the rest of the world. Still, I worried, as mothers do, and was glad when I received his letters, full of praise for his new friend.”

Castiel ducked his head. “I’m sure he did much more for me than I have ever done for him.”

“Oh no.” She shook her head. “Once he met you, I never had to worry that he would be alone, and that is worth its weight in gold. I was so disappointed when the two of you drifted apart after leaving Oxford.”

Castiel looked away. “I fear that was very much my doing, ma’am.”

“Mary. And I believe that was simply life.” Her eyes defied him to contradict her, and Castiel wisely chose not to do so. “Do you know, when he began spending time with your family again this Season, I wondered at first if he was courting your sister. I was not sure I approved.”

“Ma’am—” Castiel began, uncertain if he should be offended on his sister’s behalf. It was true that their family was nowhere near the elite ranks of the house of Winchester, but Lady Winchester had never struck him as being particularly high in the instep. Had she perhaps caught wind of their family’s troubles? If so, who else knew?

“Oh no,” Mary interrupted his whirling thoughts. “I did not mean to offend you. Miss Shurley is a lovely girl. It’s only that she is so _young._ I know it’s the done thing, gentlemen marrying girls just being launched into the marriage mart, but it’s always felt so unequal to me. John and I were of an age when we were married, though there was talk at the time about us marrying so young. But we were so happy…” She caught herself drifting off and chuckled. “Forgive me. I am being romantic. Jessica is only a year Sam’s junior as well, and has proven a good, steady partner to him. I want that for Dean as well, someone who can keep up with him. If he were to marry some chit just out of the schoolroom, he would run circles around her.”

On this, Castiel could reassure Lady Winchester, at least. “I do not believe his Lordship has any intent of courting my sister. Nor has he confessed any interest in the current crop of debutantes.”

“No,” Mary agreed, a corner of her mouth twitching faintly upward. “It is not your sister he is courting.”

She fixed Castiel with a significant look and he went rigid, a chill crawling down his spine. “My Lady,” he said through stiff lips. “I assure you, I—”

“Mary. Mr. Shurley,” she interrupted him. “I am not a woman who puts much stock in convention. My greatest concern is for my sons’ happiness. Naturally, a certain amount of discretion must be exercised, but your friendship has been a source of happiness to Dean, and I would like for it to continue to be so. Do you understand me?”

Castiel gulped. Surely she could not be implying—surely Dean could not feel—and yet… 

“Yes, my Lady—ma’am—Mary,” he answered, voice thick. “I understand.” 

It would all come to naught anyway; the incriminating paper burned a hole in the bottom of his trunk even as they spoke. And yet, one small, irrepressible piece of his heart still soared to think that perhaps their youthful misadventures had meant as much to Dean as they had to him. Perhaps Dean could feel a fraction of what Castiel felt.

*****

Castiel was thoroughly distracted throughout dinner, and through the customary port afterwards, his mind awhirl between the things Lady Winchester had implied earlier and his own burden of guilt over the betrayal he would be forced to execute. As the men rose to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room, Dean instead pulled him aside, steering them both to the privacy of the empty library.

“Something is wrong, Cas,” was the first thing Dean said when the door shut behind them. “And don’t give me some lie about having too much to drink. Did my mother say something to upset you earlier?”

“Your mother was extremely gracious.” It was not a lie. “She wanted to impress on me that she felt Hael is too young for you.”

Dean gave a little snort. “I am not courting Hael.”

“Yes. She and I both agreed that we did not think you were.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “She thought perhaps that you were courting someone else.” 

Their eyes met and held, the full significance of what was being asked conveyed only by their gazes. Dean swallowed heavily. 

“And if I were, would that be acceptable?” 

Dean’s tongue darted out and licked his lips, and Castiel’s willpower broke. With an embarrassing noise, he surged forward, mouth catching Dean’s and being met with equal enthusiasm, as he drowned himself in Dean’s touch, his taste, all those familiar things that he had spent far too many years missing—

—All those things that he would never have again once he betrayed Dean.

He broke away, breathing raggedly, turning aside as Dean attempted to draw him back in. “I can’t.” His voice was agonized in his own ears. 

Dean’s hands found his shoulders, his lips found the corner of his mouth, pressing a series of sweet, nearly chaste kisses there. “You can, sweetheart, you can. No one will look for us.”

It was so tempting. It would be so easy to just melt back into those kisses, into the gentle sweep of Dean’s hands, his smell, the little sounds he made when he kissed. Turning away again felt like wrenching a limb from his body, his heart from his chest, but how could he? How could he kiss Dean, touch him, _love him,_ when all the while he was planning to betray him?

He had to betray him. Hael’s future depended upon it. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered, unable to look back at him. “I can’t.” Without waiting for a response, he fled the room.


	5. Chapter 5

There was still another full day of the house party left before everyone would head back to London for what remained of the Season, or to their respective homes in the country for those who had had their fill of the social whirl. Castiel longed to retreat to the country manor where he had grown up, but it had long since been sold to pay Lord Shurley’s debts. 

Failing that, he considered departing early, perhaps leaving as early as daybreak, but he could not do so without being impossibly rude, and of course he and Hael had travelled here with Dean and Lady Winchester, and had no other means of returning home, unless they were to take the stage. And of course, doing so would require an explanation to Hael as well, one Castiel was not prepared to give.

It seemed he had no recourse but to remain, and to behave as though nothing had happened. He would even have to face Dean, though he hoped and prayed that Dean would not demand an explanation for his actions. In order to avoid this reckoning, he would need to make himself as sociable as possible amongst the other guests, in order to keep Dean from catching him alone.

He set himself assiduously to this task, conversing with Viscount Singer over breakfast, then roughhousing with Mrs. Wesson’s children after the meal, before allowing Mrs. Hanscum and Lady Mills to rope him into a game of spillikins. The important thing was to never allow himself to be alone, though the polite smile he kept plastered to his face began to ache as much as his heart did. But for all his determined activity, he could not prevent his eyes from seeking out Dean, and every time, he found him looking back, an indecipherable look on his face that never failed to make Castiel’s social mask slip just a fraction.

He wanted, oh so very badly, what he could never now have.

*****

The ride back to London passed in uncomfortable silence, Castiel weighed down by the guilt of what he had to do, and Dean seemingly silent with self-recriminations of his own. At least Castiel wasn’t being called upon to give the explanation that he feared, but it was almost worse when, after hours of silence, Dean cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel asked, startled by the sudden shattering of the silence.

Dean reached up a hand to rub over the back of his neck, a gesture Castiel knew meant he was uncomfortable. 

“I owe you an apology.” There was a rasp to his voice that made Castiel frown. “I should not have forced my attentions on you, and certainly not when you were a guest in my house.”

Castiel could only stare at him in mute shock, unable to fathom how Dean had understood the situation so wrong. 

“There are certain things that are acceptable between schoolboys,” Dean went on, “that a man ought to have grown out of, and which I have not. I was wrong to expect you to feel the same.”

“Dean, no,” Castiel managed at last, aghast that Dean could think so lowly of himself. “That is not why I—There are reasons, reasons why I cannot, but they are not that I did not want you. I kissed you first. I should not have, when I could not continue. But I wanted you. I have always wanted you.” He broke off, anguished.

“What does that mean, Cas?” Dean cajoled. “What reasons?”

Castiel looked abruptly away. “My reasons are my own, and I don’t wish to speak of them. You will learn them eventually and be glad that we took this no further.”

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean demanded then. When Castiel risked a glance at him, he could see frustration writ large across his face. “Something is clearly wrong. Tell me what it is.”

“Please stop asking me.” Castiel grit his teeth to keep from begging.

“Cas—”

“Goddammit, Dean! I said I did not wish to speak on this, and I do not. Kindly leave me be!”

A long pointed silence followed his outburst, the words still ringing sharply in his ears. His chest ached and his eyes burned, and he didn’t dare look back at Dean.

“I apologize,” he said stiffly, after nearly a quarter of an hour of oppressive silence, broken only by the sounds of their horses’ hooves. He hunched his shoulders against Dean’s gaze, not turning his head to speak to him. “I ought not to have snapped at you.”

“Cas…” Dean’s tone was soft, cautious. “If it is something I can help with…”

Castiel swallowed down the bitter laugh that rose in his gorge. “It’s not. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Dean said nothing more, but Castiel could feel the heavy weight of his eyes on him for the rest of the long, silent journey.

*****

Although Castiel knew that he must share his discovery with Adler before the blackmailer grew too impatient, he found himself deeply reluctant to do so. Instead, he avoided Adler assiduously, making a point of sticking close to his great-aunt and his sister whenever he went about in society, never giving Adler an opportunity to catch him alone.

As much as he was avoiding Adler, he was also avoiding Dean. From time to time, Dean would catch his eye across a crowded room, and Castiel would be struck with the dual needs to close the distance between them and to get as far away as possible. Always there was the horrible gnawing ache of guilt and longing in his gut. 

Dean, for his part, never approached, simply watching him as if he were a strange wild animal who must be allowed his space. It only made Castiel feel worse.

Hael, however, seemed to have no such clouds marring her horizon. She had had a perfectly lovely time at Lawrence Park, and Lady Winchester was oh so kind, she told anyone who cared to ask, but she was also so pleased to be back in London and to see all her friends again. In particular, she was pleased to see Mr. Milligan again, Castiel noticed. The young man had come around the very day after they had returned from the country and returned every day to pay his court, either at Shurley House or in Lady Milton’s drawing room. He took her driving and for ices and always made a point of requesting a dance at the next evening engagement.

Castiel did nothing to discourage his suit. Milligan was very young, but Hael seemed equally taken with him, and Great-Aunt Naomi had no objections to him, which surely she would have if there was any unsavoury gossip about him. She had an uncanny knack for knowing a person’s worst habits. All in all, Castiel was not surprised when the young man appeared on his doorstep one afternoon, hat in hand, wishing for a private word with him.

Despite the hour, Charles Shurley was still abed, no doubt sleeping off a prodigious morning head, so Castiel invited Milligan to step into the study.

“I appreciate your coming to me,” he began, letting the door fall shut behind them. The latch didn’t click, but it was no matter. It was not as if there were servants about to listen at keyholes. “I should let you know, however, that should you be here to ask for my sister’s hand, it is my father to whom you would need to appeal, though I don’t foresee him having any objection to your suit.” 

He offered up a kind smile, and Milligan swallowed, tugging at his neckcloth. 

“Actually, sir,” he said. “I am not here to offer for your sister yet. You see, I am not yet in a position where I could marry her and give her all she deserves, but I wanted to let you know that I am serious in my suit, and that I do intend to make Hael—I mean, Miss Shurley—an offer just as soon as I achieve my title. When I am a marquess, I will be able to offer her all the world.”

Castiel’s blood ran cold, as pieces fell into place. “A marquess, you say. Pray, remind me, of which marquess are you the heir?”

Milligan frowned, noticing the sudden chill in the atmosphere. “Why, the Marquess of Winchester, of course. You are assisting my grandfather in obtaining the proof that I am the late Marquess’s legitimate heir.”

“Your grandfather is Zachariah Adler.” It was not a question.

Milligan gulped. “Yes.”

“Your mother was Katherine Adler?”

“She was, sir.”

“How did you come by the name Milligan?”

“When my father did not come back to publicly attest to their marriage before my birth, my grandfather thought it best if my mother go into a county where she was unknown and present herself as a widow. Milligan was my maternal grandmother’s maiden name.”

Castiel kept his tone measured. “And so, upon your majority, you became involved in your grandfather’s scheme to prove your heritage.” A thought occurred to him. “Tell me, how did Lady Winchester’s brooch find its way to my sister’s hem? It was just after you danced with her, was it not, and such a prime opportunity for your grandfather to snare my family in his blackmail.”

As he expected, Milligan’s face went white. 

“So you did place it there.” 

“I did.” Milligan was shamefaced, but Castiel could feel no pity. If he could, he would have smote him on the spot for using Hael so badly. 

_Hael._ Castiel would have to break the news to her. He dreaded it. He wished she would not be devastated, but he knew better than to hope. Mr. Milligan had been her best prospect to be safely settled. She had other suitors, but none were nearly so close to coming up to scratch, and one or two had even backed off somewhat in light of Milligan’s seemingly ardent pursuit. But more than that, Castiel knew her heart was involved. Certainly, Hael had never behaved with impropriety, had never revealed more of her feelings than she ought, but Castiel knew his sister, and he knew the smile she wore when she spoke of Milligan, and the look in her eyes when he called on her, the lightness of her feet when she shared a dance with him. 

Hael would be very hurt by this betrayal indeed.

“I think,” Castiel told Milligan in his coldest tones, “it is time for you to leave.” He strode to the study door where it was not quite closed, and swung it open, looking back at Milligan with an imperiously raised eyebrow in time to watch Milligan’s face drain of colour.

“I can explain,” Milligan whispered through stiff lips, his eyes fixed on Hael where she stood in the doorway, pale-faced, with tears on her cheeks. 

As Castiel watched, her spine straightened and her chin lifted regally. “There is no need.” Her own tone was as chilling as Castiel’s. “You needn’t call on me again, Mr. Milligan. Good day.” She looked every bit the queen as Milligan fumbled for his hat beneath her icy gaze. 

He bowed stiffly before letting himself out the front door. “Mr. Shurley. Miss Shurley. My deepest apologies.”

The heavy oak door swung shut behind him, and Hael burst into tears, falling forward against her brother’s chest, soaking his neckcloth. “Oh, I hate him!” she cried. “I _hate_ him.”

“I know,” Castiel soothed. He rubbed a comforting hand over her back and gently steered her in the direction of the kitchen for a restorative cup of tea.

*****

By the time she finished a second cup of tea, and with the help of some kindly fussing from Mrs. Tate—Castiel hovering awkwardly nearby—Hael’s tears had mostly finished, and she patted the remaining wet tracks from her cheeks with the handkerchief Castiel handed her.

“Goodness,” she said with a thready little laugh, “how one does want to cry when one is angry. To think, he has been plotting with that horrid Mr. Adler all this time. Oh! I hope he is not truly the Marquess of Winchester. Please tell me you have found nothing to legitimize his claim!” 

She turned a hopeful visage upon her brother, but Castiel’s expression must have given him away, because her face fell. 

“Oh,” she whispered. “What have you found?”

In hushed tones, Castiel explained about the certificate of marriage he had found. “I have found nothing regarding the legitimacy of the former Lord Winchester’s first marriage,” he cautioned, “but whoever issued the license must have had reason to believe he was free to marry.”

Dismay painted across her features, Hael asked, “And Mr. Adler knows about this?”

“Not yet, and for that I owe you an apology.” Castiel swallowed. “I know it is your future most on the line should Adler grow too impatient with me. But I have hated to think of harming De—Lord Winchester and his family. I have been putting it off.”

“You mustn’t tell Mr. Adler,” Hael said abruptly. 

“But your future,” Castiel argued weakly.

She sniffed. “Earlier today, I thought my greatest joy would be to marry Mr. Milligan. I find the idea has lost much of its appeal. Besides, Lord Winchester and Lady Winchester have been so kind to me. I should hate to see that vile man prosper at their expense. Do not tell Mr. Adler, but do warn them.”

Yes. That was everything Castiel wished to do. But—”Are you quite certain? Adler will be sure to retaliate.”

“I would rather live a life of the veriest drudgery than see him succeed,” she declared, a martial light in her eyes. “He has used you and I in a shocking manner and I wish to see him repaid.”

There was no arguing with that.

*****

If the butler who answered at Winchester House was surprised when Castiel asked to speak with Lady Winchester alone, rather than her son, he made no remark of it, nor of Castiel’s pale face and agitated manner. Though he had made up his mind to confess the whole truth to Lady Winchester, he did not relish admitting his part in Adler’s plan, nor did he look forward to having to inform her of her husband’s betrayal. Even worse would be to face Dean while making his confession, which was why he had chosen to speak to the lady alone.

The servant departed to see if her ladyship was at home to visitors, and returned to announce, “The Marchioness will see you in her morning room.” 

Castiel followed on his heels and allowed himself to be ushered into the room in question. It was a pleasant room, simply decorated and sunny, the furniture chosen more for comfort than fashion. Lady Winchester was seated at a tidy writing desk, head bent over her correspondence. At Castiel’s entrance, she signed her name with a flourish and graciously rose to her feet to greet him.

“What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Shurley,” she said. The butler departed, closing the door behind him, and she went on, “I presume this is to do with our conversation at Lawrence Park. I hope you will know that I would not spread what we discussed to any other ears. Dean has been much grieved at the newfound distance between the two of you, and I can only surmise that it is my doing. So,” she asked settling in on the settee, “tell me how I might repair the situation.” She gestured for Castiel to take one of the armchairs, but he could not bring himself to sit.

“Thank you, ma’am”—he clasped his hands behind his back—“but I dare not. I have not come about our previous conversation, but about another matter entirely. A very delicate matter.”

“You may talk to me about anything, Mr. Shurley.”

“First of all,” he began, “I would like to make it clear that my sister is blameless in all that has transpired, and to beg a favour on her behalf. You have been very kind to her, and if she were to find herself in a situation where all her prospects were dashed, I would ask that you do her one more kindness and take her on as a companion, or help her to find such a placement with someone who would be equally kind.”

Lady Winchester’s expression melted into one of concerned bafflement. “Of course I would be willing to do so, but are Miss Shurley’s prospects really in such danger?”

This was the easy part of the confession. “My family is penniless, ma’am. No doubt you have heard that my father has a fondness for the gaming tables, but the truth is that he has gambled away nearly everything we own. We had hoped to keep up appearances until such time as Hael was well settled in marriage, however, I can no longer foresee that happening.”

Her mouth pursed in a frown. “Whyever not? She is a very taking girl, and I thought for certain Mr. Milligan would be proposing soon.”

This was the part he had been dreading. “At the LaCroix ball, when my sister discovered your lost brooch, it was not by chance that she found it. At Mr. Adler’s behest, Mr. Milligan purloined it and planted it upon my sister’s skirts. When she took me aside to show me, Mr. Adler was able to surprise us, and to threaten to frame me for theft, with my family’s poverty and my brother’s crimes as further proof, unless I cooperated with his demands.”

Lady Winchester huffed an angry breath. “I always knew Adler was a snake. What did he want from you?”

Here was the worst part of all. “He wanted information on your family,” Castiel admitted, closing his eyes and turning away in shame. “He asked me to use my friendship with Dean—with Lord Winchester—to discover what he wanted to know.”

“And did you?” Lady Winchester asked in a tone Castiel did not know how to interpret.

“I did, ma’am.” He hung his head. He did not protest that he had done so for his sister’s sake. There was no excuse for what he had done.

The door to the morning room opened suddenly, and Castiel’s head whipped up to see Dean himself standing there, his expression thunderous. “You know who spies on people, Cas?” he demanded, a sharp edge of hurt in his voice. “Spies.”

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, feeling the urge to weep. “I am so sorry.”

“Are you?” Dean demanded. “If you were in trouble, you could have come to me. If you were being blackmailed, you could have come to me. You know that.”

All at once, all of Castiel’s frustration and exhaustion and fear over the last weeks bubbled to a head. “Do I? Where were you when I needed to hear it?”

Dean held his ground. “I was there. Where were you?”

They might have remained like that, locked in a challenging stare, if Lady Winchester had not cleared her throat. “The time for recriminations is later. At the moment, I am far more interested in why Adler was interested in our family, and what he knows that he could use to harm us. Perhaps you could tell us what you know, Mr. Shurley.”

Castiel broke Dean’s gaze to look at Lady Winchester. “Of course.” He swallowed. “I do not wish to cast aspersions on your late husband, but according to Adler, he persuaded a young woman that his marriage to you was not legitimate, and married her in secret, on the promise that he would make their union public. He never did, and she bore him a child in obscurity. Now that that child—Milligan—has reached his majority, Adler wishes to prove his legitimacy as the true heir to the title.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dean burst out. “My father _loved_ my mother. He would never—”

“Dean.” Lady Winchester laid a quelling hand on her son’s arm. “Did you uncover any proof of these claims, Mr. Shurley?” she asked cooly.

Castiel chewed on his lip. “I did, ma’am,” he admitted, removing the damning document from within his coat. “I am so very sorry.”

Lady Winchester examined the document with her mouth pursed. “I see the young woman in question was Adler’s daughter,” she remarked in a surprisingly steady tone for one whose husband’s infidelity had been so shockingly revealed. 

Dean crossed the room to lay a comforting hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Will you be alright?” he asked, ever-ready to be a pillar of support to his family, even as his own foundations were devastated. Castiel ached with love and pain for him.

“Oh yes,” Lady Winchester answered absently. “I think I shall. You have not shown this to Adler?” she asked Castiel.

“I have not.”

“Hmmm. How curious that it’s dated in August of 1799. I could have sworn that was the summer John and I took you and Sam to the Lake District,” she told Dean. She tapped a finger on the groom’s signature. “You discovered this at Lawrence Park?”

“I did,” Castiel answered, bemused.

A cryptic smile slid slowly onto her face. “Well then, I think I know exactly how to deal with our Mr. Adler. Be prepared to accept the invitation I will send you.”


	6. Chapter 6

As promised, an invitation arrived by the next morning, addressed in Lady Winchester’s tidy hand. There was to be a ball at Winchester House, only four days hence, and Castiel and Hael were both invited. 

“Rather short notice for a ball,” sniffed Aunt Naomi over her own invitation. “Though no one will dare turn down Lady Winchester, will they? Gertrude Case will be sorely tried to find guests for her musicale now.”

“But we will attend, won’t we?” Hael asked, her tone a little too breathy to seem quite calm. Luckily, their aunt did not notice, or chalked it up to girlish excitement at attending a ball. In truth, Hael had disliked the idea of going about in public, preferring to nurse her heartbreak under the tender ministrations of Mrs. Tate. It was only when Castiel had assured her that it was part of Lady Winchester’s scheme to give Adler his comeuppance that Hael had relented and agreed to go.

“What _is_ the scheme?” she had asked, and Castiel had been forced to admit that he did not know. If four days was short notice for guests to respond, it was an even shorter amount of time to put together an entire ball, let alone while plotting the downfall of one’s enemies. Yet, if anyone could do so, it was the formidable Lady Winchester.

“Of course we will attend,” Aunt Naomi declared, putting down the lorgnette with which she was examining the invitation. “It will be the talk of the season.”

*****

Lady Milton had no idea how prescient those words would be.

They entered the glittering ballroom and joined the receiving line, Castiel with his sister on his arm, and Cousin Gabriel grudgingly escorting the dowager. If there was anything havey-cavey about the haste with which the ball had been thrown together, none of the guests would ever suspect. An orchestra—the orchestra that had been intended to perform at Mrs. Case’s soiree, if Castiel were not mistaken—plied their instruments with skill. The myriad candles cast the guests in a flattering golden light, and hothouse flowers bloomed riotously from every corner, filling the room with a subtle perfume.The whole effect was thoroughly magnificent, though Castiel would have enjoyed it more had his nerves not been alight with anticipation and dread for what was to come.

He was so distracted by his singing nerves that he did not notice that they were advancing through the receiving line, until he found himself face-to-face with Samuel Wesson. He avoided his eyes as he sketched a bow, unwilling to face the judgement no doubt displayed there. At least Jessica Wesson greeted him with a smile that proved she had yet to be informed of what he had done. He bowed over her hand, and she offered a curtsy, laughing when she wobbled, her pregnancy putting her off balance.

Next was Dean, and if Castiel had avoided Samuel’s eyes, it was nothing to the shame he felt now. He bowed stiffly, and took the hand Dean offered to shake as if it would burn him. When Dean clasped his hand in both of his, Castiel’s eyes flew unwittingly to his face. His expression was completely inscrutable, though his eyes roved over Castiel as though he could read a truth written there. Castiel could only gaze stoically back, hoping the misery in his eyes was not visible to everyone in the ballroom. 

At long last, Dean released his hand, and bowed quite properly over Hael’s, leaving Castiel to come face to face with Lady Winchester. 

“Relax,” she told him in an undertone. “I have everything under control. And look.” she nodded subtly towards the entryway, where an impeccably attired footman was admitting Adler and Milligan. “The guests of honour have arrived.”

Baffled, and unsure how to respond, Castiel bowed over her graciously offered hand, and she let him go with a mischievous smile. 

“My dear Miss Shurley,” he heard her greet Hael with a kiss to both cheeks. “I am so glad you have made it.”

Beside him, Cousin Gabriel whistled low, glancing about to be certain his grandmother didn’t overhear. “Wow. There is something going on here, and it’s not just that you and our gracious host have had a lover’s quarrel—”

Castiel could almost feel the blood drain from his face. “I have no idea what you are insinuating, but—”

Gabriel’s eyes widened a fraction. “I was just teasing, cousin, though I see I have hit a nerve. You may rest assured, I have no intention of ruining your life or that of the esteemed Marquess. I am far more interested in what the lovely Dowager Marchioness has up her sleeve. I am beginning to suspect that this evening may prove more entertaining than I had previously believed. Why, I am almost glad that my ship’s departure has been delayed, if only so I don’t miss this. Though if you will excuse me, I spy some young ladies in need of dancing partners. Toodle-oo, cousin.” With a grin and a wink, he melted away into the crowd, leaving Castiel feeling cold and exposed in his wake.

A delicate hand curled at his elbow, and he turned to see his sister at his side. “Are you quite alright, Castiel? For a moment there, you went rather pale.”

He pasted on his most reassuring smile. “I will be fine momentarily. It is only that it is already so crowded. Lady Winchester will be proud of such a squeeze.”

If Hael’s look belied that she suspected he was lying, she had the good grace not to mention it as they moved further into the room. In his periphery, Castiel saw Adler moving up the receiving line, an odious kind of glee on his face. He turned to get a better look, and watched Dean’s nostrils flare with barely controlled ire as he was forced to greet the man. Lady Winchester, on the other hand, maintained a smile as mysterious as the Mona Lisa.

Milligan, for his part, looked subdued. Perhaps he felt some of the shame due to him for what he had done to Hael, or perhaps he simply didn’t like the fortune that he believed belonged to him to be spent on such a lavish entertainment. Either way, once he was through the receiving line, he moved towards Hael as if on habit, and only her fierce glare and sharply tilted chin dissuaded him from approaching. It was not quite the cut direct—such a move would only have sparked unkind gossip at Hael’s expense—but it let the young man know exactly what she thought of him.

Milligan was thus warded off, but Castiel had no such faith that Adler would keep his distance as well, and no desire to confront the man before Lady Winchester revealed the ace up her sleeve. One last time, he needed to ensure that Adler couldn’t catch him alone. 

“Come,” he murmured to Hael. “No doubt Aunt Naomi will have rounded up an army of eminently suitable young men eager to dance with you. You ought to enjoy as much of the evening as you can.”

“You ought to enjoy yourself, too,” Hael protested.

He graced her with a half-hearted smile. “I’m afraid there is no hope of that, but I will do the gentlemanly thing and stand up with whichever of your friends are wallflowers.” Dancing, after all, would give him the perfect excuse to stay out of Adler’s conversational clutches.

The look Hael gave him was dubious, but before she could interrogate him further, her aunt was upon her, ready to suggest which of her suitors she ought to dance with first, and Castiel was left to offer his hand to the quiet Miss Jones.

As it turned out, he only had to dance one set, before Mary, done with the receiving line ascended a little dais with her sons on either side.

The orchestra fell silent, and the chatter filling the room quieted to a murmur as attention turned towards the Dowager Marchioness, elegant and poised in her hunter green gown, the diamond brooch that had begun Castiel’s misadventures pinned prominently on her bosom. Other than the brooch, she wore no jewellery, and her gown was simple, with no frills or furbelows, but that only added to her air of tasteful dignity.

“Hello everyone,” she called to the room, gracing them with the smile of a practiced hostess. “Welcome to our home. My son, Lord Winchester and I thank you all for attending, and on such short notice, too. No doubt you wonder at the occasion. It is a happy one, for today we are welcoming a newfound member to our family.” 

She paused to look out at her guests as a swell of murmuring swept through the room. Castiel stood frozen with no idea where this would lead. Dean and Samuel, for their parts seemed unsurprised, though Castiel could tell immediately that Dean’s smile was only a polite mask that did not reach his eyes. No doubt, whatever was coming, he was gritting his teeth internally.

“Some of you,” Lady Winchester went on, “will recall that my late husband had a brother, tragically lost to us much too young. What our family has only recently learned is that shortly before the accident that befell him, Michael Wesson was wed to Miss Katherine Adler, who bore him a son. Mr. Milligan, my nephew, Adam. Won’t you please come join us.”

Looking thunderstruck and pale, Adam Milligan was urged towards the dais by eager members of the ton. 

“Nephew.” Mary caught his hands in both of hers and leaned in close to kiss him first on one cheek and then the other. She paused on the far side to murmur something for his ears only. From the way he saw her grip tighten on Milligan’s hands to a degree that must have caused him pain, Castiel guessed that she was uttering a warning.

Samuel greeted him next with a sincere-sounding, “Welcome to our family, cousin,” and a handshake. But if Mary’s grip had looked painful, Samuel’s large hand had to be downright crushing. Castiel watched Milligan subtly shake out his hand afterwards. 

They all wore polite smiles throughout.

“Cousin.” Dean managed only a perfunctory nod, and Milligan returned the gesture.

“My Lord,” he said, still sounding dazed. At least the boy had manners and the good sense to play along.

Adler, it seemed, had none of that. “No,” he snarled. “No! My daughter married _John_ Wesson, not Michael Wesson. My grandson is supposed to be the Marquess.”

Lady Winchester arched an eyebrow. “That is a highly unusual claim, Mr. Adler, given that my husband and I had been married for more than ten years when your grandson was born.”

Adler’s face was red, his eyes ablaze, his nostrils flared. “He told us! He told us his marriage to you was invalid! That you were never truly married.”

The Marchioness remained impressively steady in the face of Adler’s rage. “I should hope my brother-in-law would say so, for I never was married to him.”

“He said himself that he was the Marquess!” Adler looked practically apoplectic, a vein popping in his forehead.

Mary cast her eyes heavenward in a long-suffering manner. “Yes, that was a trick Michael liked to play from time to time, but as my husband was with me far from your home county at the time of the marriage, I must assure you that it could not have been him. Luckily for your grandson, Michael had the decency to sign his true name to the certificate of marriage.”

Samuel Wesson stepped in. “This is happy news, Mr. Adler. Your grandson who grew up believing himself someone’s natural child has been proven legitimate. His future has been opened up.”

“What use is it to me if the boy is merely the _cousin_ of a Marquess and not the Marquess himself?” Adler spat. 

“Use to you?” Milligan exclaimed, looking stricken.

“Oh, did you plan to use of him once he became a Marquess?” Dean bit out, arching an eyebrow threateningly. “Did you think to use him to advance your own position and interests?”

“Of all the nerve!” Aunt Naomi hissed in Castiel’s ear.

Red-faced, Adler seemed to realize that he had found himself onto unsteady ground. Sputtering, he cast about for a defense. “How dare you dishonour my daughter this way!” he snarled.

“No,” Mary countered, still cool and collected, “how dare _you_ dishonour her this way? You discarded her in the country to raise her son alone, you have made this scandal public, and you are the one who is failing to rejoice that her good name has been restored, because it does not bring prestige to you. Shame on you, Mr. Adler.”

A murmur of agreement swept through the gathered cloud, led by the sticklers who had once been so fond of Adler’s moralizing. When he cast his gaze over Lady Milton for aid, she raised her nose in the air and looked straight past him. The cut direct. Others did the same. Frantic now, Adler searched to turn the tide in his favour. “You.” He whirled on Castiel. “This is your doing! You told them!”

Castiel jerked his chin up to stare Adler coldly in the eye. “I did.”

“Since Mr. Shurley learned of your daughter’s story, he has worked tirelessly to unite us with my nephew,” Mary declared.

“You were supposed to bring me the evidence!” Adler advanced on him, growing more unhinged by the second. “You were supposed to spy on them. You were supposed to ruin them!” 

Samuel Wesson scoffed. “What makes you think that Mr. Shurley would do such a thing for you, when my brother is his oldest friend?”

“The criminal tendencies are in his blood, just like his brother!” Adler clung to this new scandal like a lifeline. “Why, I discovered him attempting to steal Lady Winchester’s diamond brooch at the LaCroix ball.”

Lady Winchester fingered the ornament in question. “This brooch? Don’t be absurd, Mr. Adler. Mr. Shurley merely found it and returned it to me. I have no idea why you think he would have joined in any of your schemes.”

“Because he didn’t want me to reveal to the world that his family is destitute, that his fool of a father has gambled away every last penny, that his sister has no dowry at all!”

“Mr. Shurley?” Mary looked at him calmly, waiting for his answer.

He felt strangely light as he ascended the dais to address Adler’s charges. He straightened his spine and looked out at the gathered spectators, who watched the scene avidly. His great-aunt, he noted, looked torn between outrage and horror, but Cousin Gabriel watched him with a proud gleam in his eye. He caught Hael’s eye, and she gave him a determined nod, as steady as a military commander. 

“It is true,” he declared, turning his eyes to Dean, who met his gaze steadily. “Mr. Adler has been blackmailing me with the ruin of my family. But even so, I could not allow him to bring harm to yours. So,” he turned to Adler and sketched him an ironic bow, “congratulations, Mr. Adler. You have succeeded in ruining me. But you have ruined yourself as well, and I will take my satisfaction in that.”

He stepped off the dais and offered his arm to his sister. At a nod from Lady Winchester, a pair of burly footmen were already approaching to escort Adler from the premises.

The bow Castiel made towards the Wessons was far more sincere than that he had offered his blackmailer. “Your Lordship, My Lady, I thank you for your hospitality, but I believe it is time we took our leave.” With that, he escorted Hael from the ballroom, proud every inch of the way of the manner in which she held her head high, even as whispers swept behind them out the door.

“I say,” Castiel heard Gabriel exclaim as they departed. “I believe my grandmother requires smelling salts.”

Then the door clanged behind them, and suddenly all was silence.

***** 

Despite the dramatic turn the evening had taken, Castiel rose in the morning and set out on a series of errands, putting as many affairs in order as he could before the ramifications of the family poverty becoming known could catch up with them. As it was, word had quickly spread, even to those who had not been lucky enough to attend the previous evening’s ball. Whispers followed him wherever he went, and more than one shopkeeper eyed him with suspicion as he passed their establishments. He did his best to appear to pay it no mind, but it dragged his grey mood down further. Any triumph he might have felt after last night’s events swiftly faded in the face of his family’s new reality.

His final stop was to place a notice in the paper, offering his services as a secretary to any gentleman who might be in need. That done, he returned to Shurley House, where he paused outside, taking in the facade, knowing that this might be one of the last times he might look at it and call it home. With a sigh, at last he pushed his way indoors to face his next task: informing his father.

Castiel found Lord Shurley in his study, wrapped in the omnipresent dressing gown, but awake and alert for once, scribbling away on his manuscript.

“Oh hello, son,” he greeted Castiel, failing to notice the dark cloud that hung over him. “How are you today?”

“How am I?” Castiel demanded, suddenly filled with a cold fury. How dare Charles Shurley sit here, acting as if nothing was wrong—perhaps not even noticing anything was wrong—when Castiel had been struggling so long to keep them all above water? How dare he remain oblivious in the face of the damage he had wrought? “How I am is how we all are, father: ruined.”

“Now, Castiel,” Charles soothed, half his attention still on his page. He scribbled out a few words and jotted down something new. “I know our situation has been less than ideal, but we have all been doing quite well in our retrenchments, and look, I am following your advice, and have not played so much as a game of whist in weeks. Surely, to say we are ruined is somewhat dramatic.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “We are ruined, _publically._ Have you been so insulated from the outside world that you have failed to hear the gossip? Zachariah Adler learned of our financial state, and he has announced it to the entire ton. Any hopes Hael had of making a good match have been thoroughly destroyed. Tell me, which life of penury do you prefer for your daughter? Shall she suffer the grey half-life of a governess, or perhaps she should live out her days as a poor relation under the thumb of Aunt Naomi?”

At that, Charles looked startled and put down his pen. “Surely it is not so dire as all that?”

Castiel blew out a frustrated breath through his nostrils. “Lady Winchester has been kind enough to offer Hael a place as her companion,” he admitted, “and she will be good to her. But Hael deserved the life her other friends will have. She deserved a chance at marriage and children and her own home. She did not deserve to have her future squandered because you could not handle your failure with Lucien.”

Charles eyes flashed, and he lurched to his feet, a thunderous look on his face, but Castiel would not be deterred.

“I did not deserve to be blackmailed because you chose to throw everything away!”

That gave Charles pause. “Blackmail? Son, I did not even realize—”

“No,” Castiel cut him off with a humourless chuckle. “You did not. How could you, when you have all but forgotten you had two remaining children who have not betrayed you? Since Lucien, that has been all you’ve seen.”

Charles opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. Castiel’s shoulders slumped in defeat and exhaustion. 

“I am retiring to bed,” he informed his father, despite the early hour. Today, he could do nothing more than sleep. With his back to the man, he added, “Hael will depart tomorrow, and I will begin looking for employment and lodging. I suggest you prevail upon Aunt Naomi to take you in. The house will need to be sold, after all.”

Without waiting for a response, he left the room, letting the door close heavy behind him. He trudged up the stairs, heart a lump of lead in his chest. It was done. Everything was ruined. Hael. Dean. His father. Castiel himself. From here on out, there was nothing left to do but pick up the pieces.

*****

It was with a heavy heart that Castiel handed Mrs. Tate her letter of character the next morning. “I am sorry it has come to this,” he told her, “but I have written you a glowing reference, and of course you may stay until the house is sold. I hope you will be happy in your next position.”

“Oh ducky.” The old housekeeper patted his cheek. “Don’t you worry about me. But you be sure to take care of yourself, young man. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world for far too long. Even when you were young, you were such a serious boy.” She sighed. “Such a pretty child, though.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, though his eyes pricked with unshed tears.

“Things will work themselves out, my duck, you just have faith.” She took his hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “Now, I’d best be helping your sister with her trunk, the poor little lamb.” With a final squeeze, she disappeared up the stairs, and Castiel made his way into the drawing room, where he was preparing their few remaining possessions to be sold or packed away. He was working in there when he heard the knock on the door. Carefully putting aside his mother’s ormolu clock, he went to answer.

Castiel was not certain what he had expected—perhaps for a servant to come fetch Hael from the back entrance. He did not expect the face that greeted him when he opened the front door. There, on the step, his face serious, stood Dean. 

“Hullo, Cas,” he greeted, reaching up with a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“Dean,” Castiel said blankly. “What are you doing here?”

Dean doffed his hat. “I’m here to escort Miss Shurley to my mother.” He attempted and failed to smile. “Don’t worry, I have brought my mother’s lady’s maid with me for propriety. And, of course, you are welcome to ride with us and help your sister get settled. Whatever she needs.”

“That would be… that is… very kind. Thank you.” Castiel remembered himself enough to step out of the doorway. “Hael will be another few minutes. Won’t you come in?”

Once inside the entry hall, out of view of the street, Dean clasped suddenly at Castiel’s hand. “You could come make your home with us, too.”

Startled, Castiel could only stare at his hand in Dean’s grip, not even attempting to take it back. “Why?” he asked at last. “After what I did to you? To your family?”

Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I do seem to recall that you were being blackmailed,” was his gruff reply. “And when push came to shove, you didn’t follow through. You brought the information to my mother instead, and allowed yourself to be ruined in the process.”

“Yes, well…” Castiel turned away, shoulders hunching. He had no good response to that. “What would the ton say if I came to stay with you?”

“They would say, oh, that Marquess of Winchester is such a good friend, taking in Mr. Shurley when he fell on hard times.”

“And what would your mother say?” Castiel asked, skeptical.

At that Dean coloured. “It was her suggestion in the first place.”

“Still,” Castiel said on a sigh, wanting nothing more than to accept, “I don’t think I ought. I’m not good luck, Dean.”

It was Dean’s turn to turn away. “What do you plan to do, then?” he muttered to the room at large.

“Take employment,” Castiel answered. “I have placed an advertisement. I plan to become a gentleman’s secretary.”

“So, become my secretary, then.” Dean caught Castiel’s shoulder in his hand. “I am offering you a home, Castiel. Please. Take it.”

*****

In the end, Castiel accepted the offer. Dean was very persuasive, as was the thought of having a place to call home, even if his place there was out of charity. He was pleased to be able to remain close to Hael as well, not liking to leave her alone so soon after her disappointment in love, and the abrupt changes to her life. 

With that settled, Dean helped Castiel gather his belongings and pack his trunks, and soon the Shurley siblings were moved into the Winchester household, just in time for preparations to begin to relocate from the London home to Wesson Abbey, the main Winchester seat. With the Season drawing to a close, and with it, Dean’s responsibilities in Parliament, he and Mary both grew eager to be away from the crowds of the city. 

During this time, Castiel made himself as useful as possible as Dean’s secretary, making sure all the necessary arrangements were made to transport persons and possessions to the country seat, to keep up care of the London house, and a million other small details that must be attended to before they could depart. Hael made herself similarly useful to Mary, though she did not have nearly the same experience of running a large household as the older woman, and ended up getting more of an education than actually smoothing the way. 

There were still evening entertainments during the last few weeks of the Season, and Dean frequently tried to persuade Castiel to join him at them, but Castiel insisted on declining. He no longer had a place in the glittering ranks of the ton, and that was as it should be. Perhaps at some point in the future, if Dean truly did intend to offer him a place for the long term, he might placate him by accompanying him to some less exclusive entertainments, but for now, Castiel’s objective was to keep his head down, and to make himself useful to his friend. It was the very least he owed to Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical fact: According to Wikipedia, "The first recorded use of hunter green as a color name in English was in 1892." I put Mary in a hunter green dress anyway, despite this story taking place in the early 1800s, because I simply couldn't resist.


	7. Chapter 7

As Dean bit his way along Castiel’s collarbone, Castiel wished he were a stronger man.

He should never have accepted Dean’s invitation to join the Winchester household. He had known that if he did, and Dean asked, he would end up in this very situation. To Dean, this was merely a convenient but pleasurable encounter between friends, perhaps heightened by the nostalgia of their school days. He could not have known what it did to Castiel, the sweet, painful clench in his heart as mouth pressed against mouth, skin against skin.

He ached where Dean pressed up against him, their limbs tangling together, and he skated a hand over the sensitive skin of Dean’s side to hear him groan.

It had taken longer to reach this point than he had expected. Dean could have approached him at any time from the moment Castiel had joined the household, and he would have said yes, no matter that he knew he should not.

But Dean had not approached. Yet, for the first weeks, Castiel had frequently felt the weight of Dean’s eyes on him, serious and puzzling. Perhaps he was deciding to what extent he could trust Castiel again. Castiel, who did not deserve the reprieve Dean had given him, did his best to prove himself trustworthy, doing all he could to make himself useful to Lady Winchester and to Dean himself without being over-familiar or insinuating. Sometimes he caught a pinched, frustrated look on Dean’s face when he watched him, but he didn’t know what to make of it. 

Finally, things had come to a head. Dean’s brother and his wife had joined the usual household members—Dean, Mary, Hael and Castiel—for dinner. Mary and Jessica Wesson had kindly engaged Hael in conversation, but Castiel had deliberately held himself back to allow Dean and his brother to converse. More and more throughout dinner, he had felt Dean frowning at him and had focused harder on his meal as a result. 

When Samuel and Jessica had finally taken their leave and Castiel would have excused himself to his room, Dean caught his arm instead. 

“Walk with me.” It was not really a request.

Castiel allowed himself to be steered outside to the privacy of the parterres gardens, abandoned as they were at night. Unsure what to expect, he had allowed Dean to turn him so that they were observing each other in the silvery gleam of the moon.

“Cas,” Dean had said in a low tone. “Do you hate me for making you an object of charity?”

Castiel had tilted his head in surprise and confusion. “I do not hate you, Dean. I could not.”

Dean caught his hands in his. “Then you do not hate me for kissing you at Lawrence Park, either?”

Castiel’s voice was throaty when he responded. “No. I do not hate you for that.”

“And you would tell me if you did not wish me to do what I am about to?”

“What are you about to do?” Castiel asked, though by the rapid beating of his heart, he already knew.

“This.”

The first touch of Dean’s lips sent a shock through Castiel’s body, and he closed his eyes on a sigh.

The kiss was short and chaste, Dean carefully keeping his hands to himself. They pulled apart and Castiel’s eyes fluttered open. In the dim light of the moon, Dean’s crooked smile was barely visible. “Was that—”

“Yes,” said Castiel, ever weak for Dean. Their mouths met again, sliding open this time, slick and warm against each other. Castiel caught Dean’s bottom lip in his teeth.

“We should find somewhere more private,” Castiel murmured when they separated. He watched Dean’s eyes go dark.

“My chambers. The door bolts from the inside.”

“Will no one wonder—?”

“Even a marquess needs privacy from time to time. And you can depart before sunrise if you are concerned.”

 _Before sunrise._ The reminder was an abrupt blow. This was not a love affair. It was simply one for bodies and their needs, to be kept behind closed doors. And yet, he would take it, for the chance to be with Dean. “You’re right. That would be wise.” He hoped he had disguised his momentary falter.

Was that a moment of hesitation on Dean’s part? Before Castiel could decipher the strange pause, Dean had nodded decisively and turned on his heel towards the terrace doors. Castiel hurried after him, feeling hot and cold all at once.

Once inside Dean’s bedchamber, Dean had wasted no time in bolting the door and pressing Castiel up against it to kiss him thoroughly. “You have no idea how much I have missed this.”

Castiel did not respond aloud, but took the opportunity to unknot Dean’s neckcloth, peppering kisses over the exposed skin. 

“Cas,” Dean hissed, as Castiel took the time to divest him of his coat, focusing his attention on Dean’s jawline even as his fingers danced along the buttons of Dean’s waistcoat. “To the bed?”

Castiel shivered. “Yes.”

Dean pushed his waistcoat the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the floor, and pulled his shirt over his head. Leaving the fabric in a heap by the side of the bed, he drew Castiel to him where he undressed him piece by piece.

He paused with his hands on the falls of Castiel’s breeches. “This is what you want?” 

Blue eyes met green, dark with lust. “I want you, Dean.”

“Good.” 

The kiss that followed was deep and heady as they lost themselves in each other for long moments. Castiel could never be quite sure when they had lost the remainder of their clothing, but soon they found themselves laid out on the finest linens, bared to each other’s gaze. 

Castiel drew his fingertips down Dean’s side, over the bumps of his ribs, a move that had always made Dean shiver. He got the desired reaction now, as Dean arched into his touch, his cock filling against his thigh. Castiel’s breath shuddered out of him at the magnificent sight of those miles of freckled skin, so familiar and yet so long-missed. Overwhelmed, he squeezed his eyes shut and felt a strong hand caress his face.

Dean rolled him onto his back, and moved over him, pressing him into the mattress. “Look at me,” he commanded, and Castiel did. Satisfied, Dean dipped to kiss him again, long and lush, until they were both hard where their bodies aligned, trading moans between their mouths.

Pleased with his work, Dean sat back on his heels, running his hands up the muscular flesh of Castiel’s thighs and regarding him contemplatively, as if debating what he should do with him next. Teasingly, he drew a finger up the length of Castiel’s cock, watching it quiver with a smug quirk to his lips. Castiel could feel the deep flush spreading over his chest.

“Have you missed this, Cas?” He abandoned Castiel’s cock to walk a hand up his chest, taking a brown nipple between his fingers and pinching lightly, just enough to make Castiel gasp.

“Yes,” he said, breathless, then, “Yes, yes,” again as Dean ducked down to take the same nipple in his mouth, tugging ever so slightly with his teeth. “Yes, Dean. I’ve missed this.”

“God, Cas.” A low groan reverberated out of Dean’s chest as he lowered himself atop Castiel once more, burying his face in his neck, as his hips shifted restlessly against the cradle of Castiel’s own. “It’s been way too long. Need this. Need you.” His words devolved into incoherent pleas as they rocked together.

Castiel’s arms came around him tightly as he matched Dean’s rhythm, thrust for thrust, marvelling at all the places their bodies were touching: Castiel’s hands on Dean’s back, Dean’s hands in his hair, their tangled legs, the press of Dean’s chest against his own, of Dean’s face against his throat. The friction as their hard cocks rode against each other, the way slicked by their mounting desire.

“Dean,” he said,“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a helpless litany of his name as heat coiled tighter and tighter within him, until he burst with it, spilling hot between their bodies with a noise that was too close to a sob.

“Cas. God, Cas.” Dean moved against him desperately, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to whichever skin he could reach. “I—” But whatever he was going to say was cut off as his body tensed up and he came with a long low groan, riding out the aftershocks against Castiel’s willing body, before finally, at long last, slumping bonelessly down against him.

They lay panting in silence for long minutes, until their breath and heartrates finally slowed. But as Castiel’s body had calmed, his mind had become active again, reminding him of all the reasons why he should not have done what he just had. 

Dean frowned as Castiel grew tense against him. “Cas?” he propped himself up on one elbow so that he could stroke a soothing hand over Castiel’s arm.

Even that simple touch was dangerous, tempting Castiel to stay here forever. It was an impossibility. Castiel rolled away from Dean’s touch, turning his back to this man whom he should not still want as much as he did. “I should go.” He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, but froze at the touch of Dean’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, his voice sex-roughened and far too hard to resist—Castiel did not want to resist—“We have hours still before anyone will look in here.”

“Dean…”

“Come on, Cas.” Dean kissed a delicate trail along the shell of Castiel’s ear. “Stay with me, a little longer.”

A moan slipped its way out of Castiel’s throat. 

“I’ll stay,” said his traitorous mouth.

He could feel the curve of Dean’s smile against his skin. “Good.”

It was harder again to leave after making love for a second time. Dean had taken Castiel apart with lips and teeth and tongue, until he couldn’t be sure of his own name. He had lain trembling in the aftermath, knowing he had to move, and wanting nothing more than to stay pressed against Dean, in a sweet, sweaty tangle. It had taken all his willpower to steel himself to leave, and only the fact that, this time, Dean did not try to stop him made it possible for him to take the dragging, reluctant steps to the door. 

Dean had watched him from the bed, where he still sprawled in his naked glory, silent and serious-eyed. Castiel didn’t know what to make of it, and a part of him had been relieved as he’d eased the door shut behind him. 

And yet, the next night, he’d been back. That night, and every night since. Castiel did not have the strength to turn his back on this, could not deny Dean, and what’s more, could not deny himself these snatches of time to pretend he had the love that he most wanted.

On this night, Dean was biting his way along Castiel’s collarbone, lavishing attention on all the spots he knew would draw groans and sighs from Castiel. Dean had spent significant amounts of time cataloguing this information, and he used it like a finely honed weapon. This time, however, Castiel had other plans. With a twist of his hips, he rolled Dean onto his back. A spark ignited in his chest as Dean stared up at him with wide green eyes and parted lips.

“My turn,” Castiel said. His turn to give Dean pleasure, to take him apart, to worship him as he deserved. Dean raised no objections, only sighing and tipping his head back to give Castiel easier access as he kissed along the strong line of his jaw, and arching up into the press of Castiel’s lips as he moved down his body.

Castiel could not help but feel as if he were giving himself away, all his love and devotion poured into each touch, until surely Dean must feel it lighting up the very core of his being. But he gave no sign of embarrassment, made no move to call Castiel out on his unseemly feelings, simpy groaning and making himself pliant to Castiel’s ministrations, parting his beautiful, bowed legs to make more room for Castiel to settle between them.

Castiel pulled back as he reached Dean’s hip bones, his own breathing harsh in his ears. With reverent fingers, he wrapped a hand around Dean’s straining cock, earning a long, low hiss of his name. He met Dean’s gaze, glazed with pleasure, with his own, and held it as he lowered his mouth over the flushed, red head. 

The taste of Dean burst salty over his tongue, and he groaned as Dean buried a hand in his unruly hair, not pulling, but gripping just hard enough that he could feel it and anchor himself in it. He bobbed his head, taking in more, and had the satisfaction of watching Dean’s eyes flutter closed as he pressed his head deep into the pillow beneath him, hips shifting as he chased the heat of Castiel’s mouth. 

With the devotion of a saint, he took Dean in, over and over, thrilling in his moans and pleas, as Castiel gave him every pleasure his mouth could provide. He would give him anything. He would give him _everything._

When Dean came, it was without warning, the first pulse flooding Castiel’s mouth, even as Dean gasped, “Sorry, sorry.”

 _I love you,_ Castiel thought, as he swallowed down everything Dean gave him. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

Dean’s hand cupped his cheek, drawing him off his softening cock so he could look him in the eyes. A thumb brushed over his swollen bottom lip. _I love you,_ Castiel thought, following Dean over the edge.

*****

Castiel found himself avoiding Dean after that. Though he’d long been aware of his feelings, the sheer intensity of that encounter had left him shaken, and he begged a headache on the next two evenings, retreating to his room before dinner and feigning sleep when Dean had looked in on him. It was not well done of him, but he didn’t yet know how to face his friend without the urge to prostrate himself at his feet and beg forgiveness for letting his feelings run away with him.

Though he had been making at least a pretence of being Dean’s secretary, no matter how little work Dean has actually asked him to do, Castiel made himself entirely scarce during the daytime hours as well, taking to tramping through the park that surrounded Winchester Manor for long, solitary hours.

He was returning from one such walk on the third day, when he spied something amiss. A figure was skulking behind an old elm tree, watching the house.

“You there,” he barked, and the figure startled, spinning to face him so abruptly, he nearly tripped on a tree root.

“You.” Castiel’s voice dripped with ice as he addressed Adam Milligan. “What are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

“Nothing,” Milligan squeaked. 

Castiel crossed his arms across his chest and regarded the guilty young man. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” He raised an eyebrow, silently daring Milligan to come clean. Milligan, tongue-tied, said nothing. At last, Castiel heaved a sigh and uncrossed his arms. “I suppose you had better come with me.”

He found Dean in his library, diligently seeing to his correspondence. His face brightened when he looked up to see Castiel in the doorway. 

“There you are. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” Despite his teasing tone, there was a tightening around his eyes that belied the vulnerability behind his words, and Castiel immediately felt like the worst kind of heel. He opened his mouth to offer some kind of explanation, but then Dean spied Milligan hovering behind Castiel’s shoulder, and his entire face shuttered.

“Cousin,” he said in a deeply ironic tone. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Do come in.”

Castiel stepped aside to allow Milligan passage, following him into the library. His voice came out in a growl as he told Dean, “I found him behind the old elm by the duck pond, spying on the house.”

Dean fixed a glower on his erstwhile cousin. “Why were you spying this time? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

Milligan protested, “I wasn’t spying.”

Dean snorted. “What do you call coming to my home uninvited to skulk behind my trees, then?”

“I wasn’t spying,” Adam reiterated. “That is, I wasn’t spying on you. I came to see Hael.” 

“That’s Miss Shurley, to you,” Dean snapped, voice like the crack of a whip. Castiel looked at him wide-eyed at his forceful defense of his sister, and Dean simply shrugged at him.

Quieter, but still with frost crystals in his voice, Castiel questioned Milligan, “Once again, have you not done enough damage? It is through your schemes that her prospects have been ruined.”

There was a note of anguish in the young man’s voice, as he replied, “I know.” Castiel might even have believed it was sincere, “I have come to offer her my apologies. And—and to offer her marriage, if she will have me.”

“You have come to do the honourable thing, then?” Dean asked, “Having had an attack of conscience over the young woman you harmed in your attempts to discredit me.”

“Yes. Though it’s not just that,” Milligan confessed, looking suddenly like the very young man he was. “I love her. I wish to marry her because I love her.” At the skeptical looks the two men fixed on him, he swallowed and continued, “I liked her immediately. I—I was only supposed to plant the brooch on her and then stay out of the public eye until my grandfather was able to establish my legitimacy, but then I met her, and she was so—so bright and vivid and alive.” His voice shook as he went on, “And she was so strong, and only I knew about it. To be all those things, while facing down ruin every day. How could I not admire that? Not love that?”

“And yet you continued to deceive her.” 

Milligan’s eyes were downcast, as he admitted, “I did. I thought I was doing right by my mother’s memory, but I know now that that is no excuse. It is not what she would have wanted.”

“Your mother?” Castiel asked.

Milligan met his gaze, face serious. “I loved my mother. For most of my life, she was all I had, and she did everything she could to give me a good life. There were always whispers, of course, gossip that she was not the widow she claimed to be, that I was illegitimate. No one could prove anything, but she did not have an easy life. She died last year after a lingering illness. My grandfather introduced himself at her funeral, and offered me the chance to vindicate her, to prove that she was not the fallen woman the gossips would paint her. It was the only thing I could still do for her. How could I not try to clear her name?”

Castiel glanced over at Dean to gauge his reaction. He wore a contemplative expression that gave nothing away.

“I did not think at first about the harm I would be doing to your family,” Milligan admitted to Dean, “and when I did, my grandfather would remind me that I was doing this for my mother. I did not like it, just as I did not like the blackmail, but I believed it was a necessary evil. And then I fell in love with Hael—Miss Shurley—and it gave me another reason to continue, for how could I marry her if I was illegitimate? But then she learned what I had done and turned me away, and she was right to do so.

“I saw the truth of my actions, then, but could see no other way forward, believing myself in too deep. But then, at the ball, I learned that I was legitimate, and that my legitimacy need not come at the expense of others. I rejoiced, even though I knew I could never truly be part of your family after what I had done. This was the best outcome we could have hoped for, I thought. But then my grandfather grew so angry, and I realized that all he cared about was the influence he would gain if I were a Marquess. If he had truly cared for my mother, if he had truly believed that her marriage was legitimate, why did he shuffle her off to the country as if she were ruined? Why did he stay away for nineteen years and only come when she was dead?”

The young man’s hands clenched into fists. “He used me badly, and I am deeply ashamed that I let him influence me and that I misused your sister in turn. If she will have me—if you will let me pay my addresses to her—I will spend the rest of my life making it up to her. All I ask for is the opportunity to make it right.”

Milligan’s face was open and earnest, and Dean and Castiel exchanged a speaking glance. Dean jerked his head towards a door that led into a private study, and Castiel nodded in agreement.

“Excuse us,” Dean said to Milligan. “Please wait here.” 

*****

“Well,” Dean said once they were alone in the study. “What say you?”

“The young man seems genuinely remorseful,” was Castiel’s assessment. “But it is your family he sought to harm, so I will leave the decision up to you.”

“I believe,” Dean agreed, “that he is speaking the truth. But though he may have attempted to harm my family, he did do damage to yours, so it must be you who chooses.”

At an impasse, the two watched each other, searching to glean the other’s true feelings.

“Perhaps,” Castiel said at last, slowly, “we ought to let Hael make the choice. If she wishes to forgive him, I can find it in myself to do so, too.”

“And if you will forgive him, then so must I.”

Castiel glanced at Dean, surprised. “You needn’t do any such thing. If you have been hurt by him, you may feel it as long as you need.”

“Cas.” Dean surprised him, taking Castiel’s chin in hand and pressing a swift, harsh kiss to his mouth. He did not back away, eyes boring into Castiel’s as he said, “It is on your behalf that I am angry at him, so if you will forgive him, so will I.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, still stunned. He wanted to say more, wanted to read something into the intensity of Dean’s words, but he could not possibly fathom it all. “Dean—”

Dean silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Do not say more now, or I will be forced to kiss you again, and my cousin waits just on the other side of this door. But come to me tonight. Please. I have missed you.” Despite his admonition to wait, he captured Castiel’s mouth with his own once again, kissing them both breathless.

*****

When Castiel informed Hael that Mr. Milligan had come to see her, her face passed rapidly through several emotions, landing on distress.

“You do not need to see him if you do not wish to,” Castiel hastened to assure her. “He has been informed that you may want nothing to do with him, and if so, he will go away without complaint.”

“And if I will see him?” Hael asked cautiously.

“Then he wishes to make his apologies and to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“And should I accept?”

Castiel took a moment to look at his sister, still strong and dignified despite her young age and all that had happened to her. Whatever choice she made, it would be made wisely. “That is entirely up to you.”

Lady Winchester patted her hand. “You will always have a home with me, my dear, but you must choose what will make you happiest.”

Hael nodded decisively. “Very well. I will speak with him.” She stood, shaking out her skirts and took the arm offered to her by her brother so he could escort her to the library where the erstwhile swain waited. “Under the circumstances, will you permit us to speak alone?”

Aunt Naomi would no doubt have had his head for allowing it, but Castiel trusted his sister. Pausing before pushing open the library doors, he agreed, “You may. I will wait outside the door in case you have need of me.”

“Oh thank you!” Hael flung her arms about his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. He returned the tight squeeze. “You have always been the best of brothers. I love you.”

He set her back on her feet. “I love you, too. Whatever decision you make, it will be the right choice.”

She beamed up at him, and with a final straightening of her shoulders, swept regally into the library.

***** 

Despite Castiel’s faith in his sister, the wait seemed interminable, and he was determined not to listen at the door. After the first ten minutes, Dean joined his vigil, his steady strength bolstering Castiel, and the press of his shoulder warm against his own.

After another fifteen minutes had passed, Dean pressed closer still. Between their bodies, out of sight of anyone who might be passing through the hallway, Dean’s fingers entwined with his. Castiel let out a slow breath, and Dean turned his head to give him a secret smile.

And so they waited.

At long last, the door swung open and Hael emerged, hand in hand with Mr. Milligan, both of them with shining countenances, Milligan looking dazed and besotted.

“Mr. Shurley,” he addressed Castiel. “Your sister has done me the great honour of agreeing to become my wife.”

“Yes,” said Castiel dryly, looking the couple up and down. “I can see that.”

“Congratulations, Miss Shurley,” Dean said to Hael. “And to you, Cousin Adam.”

“Thank you,” was Mr. Milligan’s grave response. “With your permission, I will speak with the rector of the parish church about having the banns read. Hael wishes to be married here, you see. And I will make inquiries about finding a suitable house. I wish to do things properly.”

“If it’s a house you want,” Dean surprised everyone by saying, “might I suggest you take residence in Lawrence Park? It stands empty much of the time, and it was your father’s home for many years. I would be happy to see Miss Shurley become mistress of such a house.”

“You are far too kind,” Milligan said, as Hael exclaimed, “Oh, thank you, Lord Winchester!”

Castiel simply softly said, “Dean,” but he hoped Dean could read all of his gratitude in his face. He knew the gesture had been made for Hael’s sake, and had she and her betrothed not been there at that moment, he would have kissed him until they had to come up for air.

Correctly interpreting his feelings, Dean traced one finger over the curve of Castiel’s hand, where it would not be seen, an acknowledgement and a promise for later.

“From here on out,” Dean told Milligan, “you do your best to deserve her.”

*****

The household was in bed when Castiel slipped into Dean’s room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The room was illuminated by a single candle, which turned Dean’s skin golden as he rose from his dressing table where he had been waiting.

Clad in a dark green dressing gown, Dean crossed to where Castiel stood in the doorway, taking his hands in both of his. “You came. I didn’t know if you would.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, helpless at the hint of vulnerability in Dean’s tone. His thumbs rubbed circles on the backs of Dean’s hands. “That was a kind thing you did, for Hael and Mr. Milligan.”

Dean’s eyes were dark and soft in the candlelight. “You must know I did it for you, too?”

Castiel’s heart faltered. “For me?”

Dean bit his lip. “I did it for Hael, because I have come to think of her as if she were my own sister. And I did it for Adam, because despite it all, when you discover family, you don’t throw them away. But I also did it for you, because I knew it would make you happy, for your sister to have a home of her own. I wanted to give you that peace.”

“Dean…”

“Cas.” Dean drew him into a kiss, soft and lush and lingering.

“You have given me far too much already,” Castiel murmured when they drew apart. Their breath mingled in the scant inches between their faces, and the look in Dean’s eyes was melting all his resolve.

“Don’t you know?” Dean murmured. “I would give you everything.” Castiel’s breath caught in his chest as Dean raised a hand to caress his cheek. “I know my feelings are unwelcome to you, so I won’t speak of them, but you must allow me to do for you anything I can.”

Castiel wondered faintly if this was what it felt like to suffer an apoplexy. His breath wouldn’t come properly to his lungs. “Unwelcome? What feelings? Dean, I don’t understand.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?” Dean clutched tighter at his hands. “You know—you must know—that I am in love with you.”

Against his will, Castiel felt himself shaking his head, a hysterical laugh trying to bubble up from his chest. “No. No, that’s impossible. I have been in love with you, hopeless, unrequited love, since we were boys. The first time you came to my bed, the first time you laid a hand on me, I was lost, and I have been ever since.”

“Cas? Cas, sweetheart, you’re trembling.” Dean hands came to his shoulders, steadying him. “Look at me.” Castiel met his gaze, and held it as he took several deep, slow breaths, getting himself under control. It was too wondrous to be believed. “I have been in love with you just as long,” Dean confessed. “I had thought this was a mere convenience for you, a bit of fun.”

“No, never just that. I did not think it possible you could feel that way for me ”

“I have been determinedly wooing you since we met this spring. Did you not notice?” Dean’s voice took on a teasing quality.

“I credited it to wishful thinking and tried to move on.”

“Is that why you kept suggesting I marry?”

“I only wanted to see you happy.”

“Cas. Castiel.” Dean’s hands slid back down his arms to catch his hands in his again and bring them up between them. “I am happy. With you. I know we cannot marry. I know I cannot declare myself publically. But I want us to continue like this, together in every way we can be. I want you to stay, in my home, in my arms, in my bed. In my heart. Tell me you’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay,” Castiel vowed immediately, pressing a giddy kiss to Dean’s lips. He felt like laughing and weeping all at once. “Of course I’ll stay.” Another kiss, this one wet and a little salty from the tears neither of them acknowledged spilling. His grin was so wide it hurt. “Even if my fortune were suddenly recovered, I would stay. Though my lack of fortune does give us an excellent cover story.”

“I’ll make up any story you want if it lets me keep you with me.”

Their lips met enthusiastically, and they stumbled towards the bed in a mess of caressing limbs. With one final push backwards, Dean landed on the mattress with a bounce. He grinned up at Castiel as he opened the belt on his robe to reveal miles of naked flesh, all of which needed to be explored by Castiel’s mouth without a moment to lose.

“Uh uh,” he said, putting out a hand to stop Castiel when he would have followed him down onto the bed. “You too. Let me see you.”

Obligingly, Castiel unbelted his own robe, letting it fall to the ground. Dean watched him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Between his legs, his cock strained, red and eager, and Castiel’s mouth watered to taste him.

Dean, however, had other plans and he sat forward, catching Castiel’s hand in his own, drawing him forward onto the bed until their mouths could meet, bodies pressing together from chest to ankle. They groaned into each other’s mouths, and Dean rolled them so that Castiel was flat on his back and Dean was sitting up beside him.

“Do you remember,” Dean asked, raking his nails lightly down Castiel’s chest to make him moan, “the first time we touched like this?”

Not to be outdone, Castiel rolled onto his side and took Dean’s cock in hand, giving it a slow, teasing stroke. “I remember you snuck into my bed and whispered that you’d seen Baz Roche with his hands down Daniel Adina’s pants, and did I want to try it.”

“And you did.” Dean pressed his cock into Castiel’s fist and leaned in to nip at his neck. 

“Of course I did. You were beautiful.”

It was a testament to who Dean was that, even in the midst of what they were doing, that simple statement made him blush. “I think I came within five seconds, the first time you put your hand on me.”

“I was flattered. And I didn’t take much more time.”

“Luckily we’ve developed some staying power with age.”

“Is that so?” Castiel gave his hand a twist, just so, and Dean nearly came off the bed with a shout. 

“Oh God,” Dean panted as Castiel picked up the pace of his strokes, mesmerized by the way Dean’s body arched in pleasure. “Oh God, Cas. Come here.”

Cas crowded closer to Dean, who claimed his mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. Dean’s hand joined his, wrapping around both their cocks, stroking them together and drawing twin moans from their chests. Heat built between them as they fell into a desperate rhythm.

“Just like that,” Dean breathed into Castiel’s mouth. “Just like that. I love you so much.”

The words hit Cas right in the chest, and his body went stiff as he came over both their hands with a cry that was muffled by Dean’s kiss. They continued to stroke together, Castiel’s spend slicking the way, and it was only moments later that Dean tumbled over the edge, too, his face in its pleasure the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen.

Their lips met again, unhurried this time, and they kissed through the last of the aftershocks. At long last they pulled apart, matching dazed smiles on their faces, and fell back into the pillows side-by-side. As if unable to stand even that small distance between them, Dean’s hand crept across the sheets to find Castiel’s. Castiel turned his hand over and entwined their fingers, letting a deep feeling of peace blanket him. He felt Dean squeeze his hand, even as his eyes drifted closed.

*****

When he woke, it was to the pale gray light of early dawn. They had not drawn the curtains of the bed or of the windows themselves. Castiel drifted in a dreamy haze, rolling onto his side, his body automatically seeking Dean’s warmth. He sat up abruptly when he realized that Dean was not beside him.

A quick glance around the room revealed Dean by the open dressing room door, conversing in low tones with the person on the other side. Castiel’s blood ran cold. Had they been discovered? Whatever the change in their relationship, he ought not to have spent the night. But then Dean was closing the door and strolling back towards the bed casual as you please, allowing his robe to drop by the foot of the bed, revealing all his bare skin before climbing back into bed with Castiel.

“What—?” Castiel started to ask, but Dean chuckled low and shushed him with a kiss pressed to his mouth.

“Relax,” he said, his teeth glinting in the dim light of the room. “That was simply my valet, Mr. Lafitte. He will ensure no one disturbs us, no matter how long we choose to lay abed.”

“You are not concerned that he knows about us?”

Dean took Castiel’s hand and pressed his lips to his knuckles. “He is entirely discreet. I trust him with my life. And what’s more, I would trust him with yours, and I do not take that lightly.”

“If you will trust him, then so will I.”

Dean hummed his approval, shifted so that he was stradling Castiel’s thighs, and bent down to press his lips to his throat. Castiel sighed at the fluttering sensation, sweet warmth rising in his chest. 

“Now,” Dean breathed, “since we are both awake, we ought to take advantage of this early hour. Don’t you agree?”

Castiel’s agreement did not come in words, but he made his feelings on the matter very clear to Dean indeed.


	8. Epilogue

“Does your marquess ever intend to give my youngest back?”

With an indulgent smile on his lips, Castiel watched Dean dandle Hael’s small daughter on his knee, face lit up with laughter and joy. “He might not. This might just be the one he keeps.”

Hael hid a giggle behind her hand and Jessica Wesson, who was listening in on the conversation with one ear while helping her eldest compose a letter to his school friend, laughed aloud. Dean glanced their way and caught Castiel’s gaze with one of his eye-crinkling smiles, the ones which even now caused Castiel’s heart to skip a beat. He responded with a private smile of his own.

Across the room, young Claire Wesson, Samuel and Jessica’s youngest, was marshalling the other children for some imaginary battle.

“No, Papa,” she paused to scold her father. “You are the giant and you must be more frightening than that.” Obligingly, Samuel pulled a face that had the littlest children quaking, even as the doors opened to admit Mary and Viscount Singer. 

“Ah, here are the newlyweds at last!” Dean rose, passing the child in his arms to her waiting papa and crossed the room to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek. The marriage had been a long time coming, neither Mary nor the Viscount wishing to supplant the spouses each had loved for so long, but both wishing at last to move forward together. The whole family, and many of their friends, had gathered at Wesson Abbey to celebrate the wedding, and would depart tomorrow when the bride and groom took their leave for the Singer estate.

*****

“How odd to have the household entirely to ourselves,” Dean mused after Hael and Adam Milligan, the last of the guests, had driven away with their children in tow. 

Castiel and Dean stood in the garden, shoulders pressed together, watching the sun sink heavy and honey gold. 

“I will miss your mother’s presence,” Castiel agreed. “She has always been very kind to me. But how wonderful it is that she and Viscount Singer have managed to find happiness in being wed.” Glancing at Dean’s profile, glowing in the rich light of the sunset, he was more in love than ever. He reached out and linked their hands together.

Suddenly, Dean turned to him, catching up his other hand in his own. “Marry me.”

“What?” Castiel asked, startled.

“Marry me,” Dean repeated. “We cannot have the banns read or even fetch a special license, but we can make our vows to each other, right here, right now.”

Castiel gazed into Dean’s eyes, his heart blazing for this man, who he had loved nearly all his life. There was only one answer he could make. “Yes.”

Dean’s eyes dipped towards his lips, watching the word form, and when they raised again to Castiel’s, they were brimming with so much love, Castiel didn’t know how he’d ever missed it. “Castiel Shurley, I take you to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward...”

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you'd like more Regency Romance, you might like to check out my previous Destiel Harlequin Challenge fic, [With Sure Certainty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374761/chapters/25466511), and its Saileen companion fic, [Legally Wed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470828/chapters/30883584).
> 
> Be sure to check out the other awesome fics and art made for the [Destiel Harlequin Challenge ](https://destielharlequinchallenge.tumblr.com/)!


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